THE 


PRACTICAL 


ELEMENTS  OF  RHETORIC 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIVE   EXAMPLES. 


BY 
JOHN   F.   GENUNG,   PH.D.  (LEIPSIC) 

PROFESSOR  OF  RHETORIC  IN  AMHERST  COLLEGE. 


BOSTON : 

GINN   &   COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS. 
1888. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1886,  by 

JOHN  F.  GENUNG, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington, 


J.  S.  GUSHING  &  Co.,  PRINTERS,  BOSTON,  MASS. 


Stack 
Annex 


\M02, 


TO 
my  friend  and  colleague, 

f&.  f&umpijreg  Netll, 

in  pleasant  recollection 
of  the  points  we  have  discussed  and  the  plans 

we  have  made  together, 

in  the  sphere  of  study  to  which  this  book 

aspires  to  contribute. 


CONTENTS. 


Introductory. 

Definition  of  Rhetoric I 

Rhetoric  as  Adaptation I 

Rhetoric  as  an  Art 3 

Province  and  Distribution  of  Rhetoric    .         .         .         .         .         .  6 

PART  I.  — STYLE. 

Chapter  I.— Style  in  General. 

Definition  of  Style .  13 

Adaptations  of  Style ...17 

Qualities  of  Style 19 

Principle  of  Economy    .........25 

Chapter  II.  —  Diction. 

Definition  of  Diction 28 

SECTION  I.  —  Choice  of  Words      .......  29 

I.  Accurate  Use 29 

n.  Present  Use 35 

ill.  Intelligible  Use 39 

iv.  Scholarly  Use 42 

SECTION  II. — The  Characteristics  of  Poetic  Diction      ...  48 

I.  Poetic  Brevity  of  Expression 50 

II.  Poetic  Archaisms  and  Non-Colloquialisms         ...  52 

in.  Poetic  Picturesqueness 55 

iv.  Poetic  Regard  for  Sound  .......  60 


vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

SECTION  III. The  Characteristics  and  Types  of  Prose  Diction  .  63 

I.  Characteristics  of  Prose  Diction 64 

II.  Types  of  Prose  Diction 68 

SECTION  IV.  —  Diction  as  Determined  by  Object  and  Occasion     .  76 

I.  The  Diction  of  Spoken  Discourse 76 

II.  The  Diction  of  Written  Discourse     .....  So 

III.  Antique,  Foreign,  Colloquial,  and  Dialect  Diction    .         .  82 

iv.  Maintenance  of  the  Tone  of  Discourse      ....  83 
Chapter  III.  —  Figures  of  Speech.. 

Definition 85 

General  Suggestions 85 

Classification  and  Description  of  the  Most  Important  Figures  of 

Speech 87 

I.  Figures  that  promote  Clearness  and  Concreteness     .        .  87 

II.  Figures  that  promote  Emphasis 96 

Chapter  IV.  —  Composition. 

SECTION  I.  —  Fundamental  Processes 109 

I.  Syntax no 

II.  Collocation 117 

in.  Retrospective  Reference 122 

iv.  Prospective  Reference 133 

v.  Correlation 135 

vi.  Conjunctional  Relation 138 

vn.  Negation 144 

vin.  Suspension 146 

IX.  Augmentation 150 

X.  Condensation i54 

XI.  Repetition 160 

XII.  Inversion          .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .165 

xin.  Euphony 167 

xiv.  Rhythm 169 

SECTION  II.— The  Sentence 172 

Definition 172 

I.  Structure  of  the  Sentence 172 


CONTENTS.  vii 

PAGE 

II.  Necessary  Qualities  of  the  Sentence          .        .        .        .175 

in.  Kinds  of  Sentences 185 

SECTION  III.  —  The  Paragraph 193 

Definition 193 

I.  Qualities  and  Structure  of  the  Paragraph  .        .        .        .  194 

II.  Kinds  of  Paragraphs 210 

PART   II.  —  INVENTION. 
Scope  of  Invention         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .217 

Chapter  I.  —  The  Basis  in  Mental  Aptitudes  and.  Hab- 
its. 

I.  Invention  as  a  Natural  Gift      ......  220 

II.  The  Mental  Habits  that  promote  Invention      .         .         .  226 

Habits  of  Observation 227 

Habits  of  Thought 232 

Habits  of  Reading 235 

Chapter  II.  —  General    Processes  in  the  Ordering   of 
Material. 

SECTION  I.  —  Determination  of  the  Theme 248 

Definition  of  Theme        ........  248 

Theme  and  Subject 249 

Statement  of  the  Theme 253 

The  Title 258 

SECTION  II. — Construction  of  the  Plan 260 

I.  General  Mechanism  of  the  Plan 261 

II.  The  Three  Fundamental  Elements  of  the  Plan          .        .  266 

The  Introduction          .......  267 

The  Development 272 

The  Conclusion    ........  279 

III.  Means  of  Preserving  Continuity 282 

SECTION  III.  —  Amplification       .......  285 

I.  Uses  of  Amplification 286 

II.  Means  of  Amplification    .......  290 

III.  Accessories  of  Amplification 297 


viii  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Chapter  III.  —  Reproduction  of  the  Thought  of  Others. 

I.  Interpretation 302 

II.  Abstract 307 

in.  Paraphrase 310 

IV.  Translation 315 

Chapter  IV.  —  Invention  dealing  with  Observed  Ob- 
jects: Description. 

I.  Description  in  its  Principles     ......  326 

Definition  of  Description 326 

Mechanism  of  Description 328 

Subdual  of  Descriptive  Details 334 

Accessories  of  Description 338 

Exactions  of  the  Object 347 

II.  Description  in  Literature 350 

In  Prose  Literature 351 

In  Poetry 352 

Chapter  V.  —  Invention  dealing  with  Events :   Narra- 
tion. 

I.  Simple  Narration 355 

Definition  of  Narration 355 

Method  of  Narration 356 

Movement  in  Narration        ......  363 

What  Narration  owes  to  Description    ....  368 

II.  Combination  of  Narratives 371 

Synchronism  of  Events 371 

Interwoven  Plots 373 

in.  Narration  in  Literature 375 

History 375 

Biography .        .        .  378 

Fiction 379 

Drama ,  381 

Chapter   VI.  —  Invention    dealing   with    Generaliza- 
tions :  Exposition. 

I.  Exposition  in  its  Elements        ....                 .  884 


CONTENTS.  ix 

PAGE 

The  Object  Expounded 384 

Exposition  Intensive,  or  Definition       ....  387 

Exposition  Extensive,  or  Division        ....  396 

n.  Exposition  in  Literature 402 

Science  and  Systematized  Thought       ....  402 

Criticism 404 

Popular  Exposition 405 

Chapter  VII.  —  Invention  dealing  -with  Truths:  Argu- 
mentation. 

I.  Proof  of  Truth  Directly .408 

Discovery  of  Facts :  Testimony  and  Authority     .        .  408 
Inference  from  Particulars :    Induction         .         .         .416 

Inference  from  Generals :  Deduction  ....  424 

II.  Proof  of  Truth  by  Disproof  of  Error        ....  429 

By  Reducing  the  Issue  to  an  Alternative      .        .        .  429 

By  Refutation 432 

in.  The  Body  of  Arguments 439 

What  Argumentation  owes  to  Exposition      .        .        .  439 

Suggestions  on  Order  of  Arguments    .  441 

iv.  Debate 444 

Chapter  VIII.  —  Invention  dealing  with  Practical  Is- 
sues :   Persuasion. 

I.  The  Principles  of  Persuasion 448 

The  Speaker's  Alliance  with  his  Audience  .        .        .  449 

The  Speaker's  Achievement  of  his  Object    .         .        .  456 

II.  Oratory 468 

Characteristics  of  Oratory  in  General   ....  469 

Kinds  of  Oratory 472 

Index  of  Subjects 477 

Index  of  the  Principal  Quotations 485 


PREFACE. 


A  BOOK  on  so  old  a  subject  as  rhetoric  can  scarcely  hope  to  give  the 
world  much  that  is  new.  But  old  things,  in  proportion  to  their  living 
value,  need  from  time  to  time  to  be  newly  defined  and  distributed, 
their  perspective  and  emphasis  need  to  be  freshly  determined,  to  suit 
changing  conditions  of  thought ;  this  we  find  abundantly  recognized  in 
the  subject  before  us,  in  the  rapidly  increasing  number  of  text-books 
that  are  appearing.  To  which  number  the  present  volume  presumes  to 
add  one ;  and  in  setting  forth  its  aim  and  standard  would  select  for 
remark  a  single  word  of  its  title,  —  the  word  practical, 

By  practical  elements  are  here  meant,  broadly,  those  elements  which 
may  be  applied,  as  the  result  of  the  teacher's  guidance,  to  the  actual 
construction  of  literature.  In  this  sense  of  the  term,  some  elements  of 
rhetoric,  though  very  real  and  valuable,  are  not  practical,  because  the 
ability  to  employ  them  cannot  be  imparted  by  teaching.  They  have 
to  exist  in  the  writer  himself,  in  the  peculiar,  individual  bent  of  his  na- 
ture. No  teacher  or  treatise,  for  instance,  could  ever  endow  the  student 
with  Milton's  sublimity,  or  with  Sterne's  elusive  wit,  or  with  Bacon's 
weighty  sententiousness ;  and  any  attempt  on  the  student's  part  to 
work  up  these  qualities  by  rule  would  be  only  a  contortion.  Other 
elements  are  not  practical,  because  all  that  can  be  done  with  them  is 
merely  to  discriminate  and  define  them.  The  student  can  burden  him- 
self, for  instance,  with  the  names  of  some  two  hundred  and  fifty  figures 
of  speech ;  but  when  he  gets  beyond  the  name  and  inquires  after  the 
usage,  he  may  safely  omit  two  hundred  and  thirty-five  of  them  as  super- 
fluous, —  they  are  merely  those  spontaneous  and  unlabored  modes 


xii  PREFACE. 

of  expression  of  which  De  Quincey  says,  "  the  rack  would  not  have 
forced  any  man  to  do  otherwise."  Still  other  elements  there  are  which 
are  not  practical  to  teach,  because  they  have  to  be  discovered.  The 
finer  principles  of  literary  taste,  for  instance,  the  subtler  music  of  rhythm 
and  fancy  and  allusion,  are  obtained  only  through  a  special  sense  devel- 
oped by  long  and  minute  discipline  ;  they  may  come  some  time,  but  not 
ordinarily  through  the  class-room.  Such  are  the  elements  excluded 
from  the  present  treatment.  To  say  they  are  unpractical,  however,  is 
not  to  say  they  are  useless ;  it  is  merely  to  confess  that  they  are  incom- 
municable. They  belong,  in  a  word,  to  a  delicate  and  difficult  science 
—  the  science  of  criticism,  rather  than  to  what  is  here  sought,  the  art 
of  constructing. 

Literature  is  of  course  infinitely  more  than  mechanism  ;  but  in  pro- 
portion as  it  becomes  more,  a  text-book  of  rhetoric  has  less  business 
with  it.  It  is  as  mechanism  that  it  must  be  taught ;  the  rest  must  be 
left  to  the  student  himself.  To  this  sphere,  then,  the  present  work  is 
restricted :  the  literary  art,  so  far  as  it  is  amenable  to  the  precepts  of 
a  text-book  and  to  the  demands  of  a  college  course. 

The  best  way  to  discern  whether  a  rhetorical  principle  is  true  and 
practical  is  to  study  its  effect  in  the  concrete.  When  the  student  sees 
how  it  looks  in  actual  application,  he  cannot  gainsay  it ;  it  is  no  more 
theory  but  fact.  And  all  the  more  suggestive  is  the  instance  if  it  is  not 
manufactured  for  the  occasion  but  taken  from  those  universally  current 
works  whose  writers  had  neither  the  fear  nor  the  worship  of  rhetoric 
before  their  eyes.  For  this  reason,  it  has  been  deemed  essential  in 
this  book  to  illustrate  every  important  point  by  copious  examples  from 
standard  literature ;  and  though  these  have  increased  the  number  of 
pages  beyond  what  was  originally  contemplated,  it  is  believed  that  their 
value  will  more  than  atone  for  the  space  they  occupy. 

AMHERST,  MASS.,  June  25,  1887. 


"  I  hope  that  your  professors  of  rhetoric  will  teach  you  to  cultivate 
that  golden  art  —  the  steadfast  use  of  a  language  in  which  truth  can  be 
told ;  a  speech  that  is  strong  by  natural  force,  and  not  merely  effective 
by  declamation  ;  an  utterance  without  trick,  without  affectation,  without 
mannerisms,  and  without  any  of  that  excessive  ambition  which  over- 
leaps itself  as  much  in  prose  writing  as  it  does  in  other  things."  — 
John  Morley. 


INTRODUCTORY. 


Definition  of  Rhetoric.  —  Rhetoric  is  the  art  of  adapting  dis- 
course, in  harmony  with  its  subject  and  occasion,  to  the  require- 
ments of  a  reader  or  hearer. 

The  word  discourse,  as  it  will  be  used  throughout  this  treatise, 
is  a  general  term  denoting  any  coherent  literary  production,  whether 
spoken  or  written. 

I. 

Rhetoric  as  Adaptation.  —  Literary  discourse,  properly  consid- 
ered, does  not  exist  for  itself  alone ;  it  is  not  soliloquy,  but  a  de- 
terminate address  to  readers  or  hearers,  seeking  to  impart  to  them 
some  information  or  thought,  with  accompaniment,  as  occasion 
requires,  of  emotion  or  impulse.  Hence,  whatever  is  thus  im- 
parted must  strive  after  such  order  and  expression  asjs  best  fitted 
to  have  its  proper  power  on  men ;  consulting  their  capacities  and 
susceptibilities,  it  must  determine  its  work  by  the  requirements 
thus  necessitated.  The  various  problems  involved  in  such  adapta- 
tion constitute  the  field  of  the  art  of  rhetoric. 

This  idea  of  adaptation  is  the  best  modern  representative  of 
the  original  aim  of  the  art.  Having  at  first  to  deal  only  with 
hearers,  rhetoric  began  as  the  art  of  oratory,  that  is,  of  convincing 
and  persuading  by  speech ;  now,  however,  when  the  art  of  print- 
ing has  greatly  broadened  its  field  of  action,  it  must  fit  itself  to 
readers  as  well,  must  therefore  include  more  literary  forms  and 
more  comprehensive  objects;  while  still  the  initial  character  of 
the  art  survives,  in  the  general  aim  of  so  presenting  thought  that 
it  shall  have  power  on  men,  which  aim  is  most  satisfactorily  ex- 
pressed in  the  term  adaptation. 


2  INTR  OD  UC  TOR  Y. 

Distinguished  by  this  Characteristic  from  the  Sciences  on 
which  it  is  founded.  —  Rhetoric  is  mainly  founded  on  two  sci- 
ences, logic  and  grammar.  "  Now^  it  is  by  the  sense,"  says  Dr. 
Campbell,  "that  rhetoric  holds  of  logic,  and  by  the  expression 
that  she  holds  of  grammar." 

Grammar  investigates  the  uses  of  words,  and  the  structure  of 
phrases  and  sentences,  with  a  view  to  ascertaining  what  are  the 
facts  of  the  language ;  and  when  these  are  presented  so  as  to 
show  what  is  correct  hi  expression,  its  end  is  accomplished. 
Rhetoric,  also,  employs  the  facts  of  the  language  to  secure  gram- 
matical correctness ;  but  this  only  because  discourse  cannot  be 
effectual  without  it.  Nor  does  rhetoric  stop  with  mere  correctness 
of  expression.  Having  an  end  to  accomplish  beyond  simple  utter- 
ance, it  must  seek  also  clearness,  or  beauty,  or  force  of  style,  ac- 
cording as  these  qualities  may  best  serve  to  give  thought  its  fitting 
power.  Further,  while  the  sphere  of  grammar  extends  only  as  far 
as  the  sentence,  rhetoric  discusses  also  the  structure  of  paragraphs 
and  larger  sections,  and  so  on  through  the  various  details  of  an 
entire  discourse. 

Logic  investigates  the  laws  of  thought,  with  a  view  to  determin- 
ing its  exact  and  consistent  sequences ;  and,  like  grammar,  it  is 
content  with  discovering  and  presenting  the  facts  of  its  province. 
Rhetoric,  also,  must  observe  the  laws  of  thought,  because  the  ends 
of  discourse  fail  if  these  are  transgressed ;  but  this  it  does  only  as 
its  hidden  beginning.  What  it  has  found  by  logical  processes  to 
be  true  and  consistent,  it  seeks  further  to  make  lucid,  or  attractive, 
or  cogent,  or  persuasive,  in  order  to  gain  men's  attention  and  in- 
fluence them. 

Thus  thought  on  the  one  side  and  expression  on  the  other, 
taking  the  distinctive  qualities  that  adaptation  imposes  on  them, 
combine  to  make  up  what  Dr.  Campbell  calls  the  soul  and  the 
body  of  discourse. 

In  what  Ways  Discourse  may  be  adapted.  —  As  dictated  by  its 
thought  and  occasion,  three  general  adaptations  of  discourse  are 
to  be  noted,  corresponding  to  the  three  divisions  of  man's  spiritual 


INTR  OD  UC  TORY.  3 

powers,  and  giving  rise,  as  either  of  these  is  predominantly  con- 
sulted, to  three  broad  types  of  literature. 

First  and  most  fundamentally,  discourse  of  whatever  kind  must 
adapt  itself  to  the  reader's  understanding ;  that  is,  it  addresses  and 
compels  his  power  of  thought,  whether  by  imparting  information 
or  by  convincing  of  truth.  Common  ideas  require,  for  the  most 
part,  merely  such  simple  presentation  as  this ;  and  the  predomi- 
nance of  this  appeal  to  the  intellect  gives  rise  to  the  great  body  of 
every-day  literature  —  history,  biography,  fiction,  essays,  treatises, 
criticism  —  included  under  the  general  name  of  Didactic  Prose. 

Secondly,  some  kinds  of  ideas  come  to  the  writer  intensified  by 
emotion  or  glowing  with  imagination ;  and  hence,  in  their  presen- 
tation, while  they  must  still  consult  primarily  the  reader's  under- 
standing, they  address  themselves  most  directly  to  his  sensibilities, 
to  make  him  feel  the  thought  as  well  as  think  it.  Of  such  adapta- 
tion to  the  emotional  nature,  the  purest  outcome  is  Poetry. 

A  third  class  of  ideas  comprises  such  as,  from  their  importance, 
or  from  the  occasion  of  their  presentation,  require  a  definite  deci- 
sion in  the  hearer's  conduct,  and  hence,  employing  persuasion  as 
a  means,  culminate  as  an  appeal  to  the  will.  This  kind  of  dis- 
course, as  it  has  the  highest  object,  must  seek  to  enlist  all  the 
spiritual  powers,  imparting  alike  thought,  emotion,  and  impulse ; 
and  results  in  the  most  complex  literary  type,  Oratory. 

Such  are  the  three  comprehensive  types  of  discourse,  evolved 
from  the  effort  to  adapt  thought,  in  various  ways,  to  human  powers. 
Of  their  occasion  and  principle  it  is  essential  to  take  account, 
though  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  they  must  necessarily  remain 
unmixed.  A  great  part  of  the  life  and  interest  of  any  literary  work 
may  arise  from  the  fact  that,  while  one  type  predominates,  such 
elements  of  others  may  be  introduced  as  shall  make  the  thought 
influence  and  satisfy  the  whole  man. 

II. 

Rhetoric  as  an  Art.  —  Rhetoric,  here  called  an  art,  is  some- 
times defined  as  a  science.  Both  designations  are  true;  they 


4  INTR  OD  UC  TOR  Y. 

merely  regard  the  subject  in  two  different  aspects.  Science  is  sys- 
tematized knowledge ;  if  then  the  laws  and  principles  of  discourse 
are  exhibited  in  an  ordered  system,  they  appear  in  the  character 
of  a  science.  Art  is  knowledge  made  efficient  by  skill ;  if  then 
rhetorical  laws  and  principles  are  applied  in  the  actual  construction 
of  discourse,  they  become  the  working  rules  of  an  art. 

According  to  its  predominant  character  as  an  art  or  as  a  science, 
rhetoric  may  be  regarded  as  of  two  kinds  :  constructive  rhetoric, 
which  is  concerned  with  the  production  of  discourse ;  and  critical 
rhetoric,  which  traces  the  laws  of  discourse  through  the  study  of 
works  of  literature.  The  present  manual,  having  principally  in  view 
the  practical  ends  of  constructive  rhetoric,  starts  from  the  definition 
which  views  rhetoric  as  an  art. 

Art  and  Aptitude.  —  Art  in  expression  is  exactly  analogous  to 
art  in  painting,  or  music,  or  handicraft.  No  one  becomes  really 
eminent  in  these  pursuits  without  first  possessing  some  natural 
aptitude  for  them ;  and  just  so,  true  genius  for  expression  must  to 
some  extent  be  born  in  a  man.  Some  persons  cannot  hope,  even 
by  training,  to  attain  eminence  as  writers.  There  is  in  the  highest 
literary  work  a  grace  and  freedom  that  cannot  be  imparted  by 
rules.  But  though  all  cannot  become  great  writers,  all  can  at  least 
learn  to  express  their  thought  directly  and  without  ambiguity ;  nor 
is  there  any  excuse  on  the  score  of  nature  for  crudeness  and  inac- 
curacy in  speech. 

Further,  just  as  in  these  other  arts  one  does  not  think  of  stopping 
with  mere  inborn  aptitude,  but  develops  and  disciplines  all  his 
powers  by  precept  and  training ;  so  in  the  art  of  expression  one 
needs  by  faithful  study  and  practice  to  get  beyond  the  point  where 
he  only  happens  to  write  well,  and  attain  that  conscious  power 
over  language  and  thought  which  gives  him  precision  and  grace  in 
adapting  means  to  ends,  and  fine  discrimination  in  choosing  among 
his  resources.  This  is  rhetorical  art,  and  this  assured  power  its 
value. 

Sources  of  Failure. — "All  fatal  faults,"  says  Ruskin,  "in  art 
that  might  have  been  otherwise  good,  arise  from  one  or  other  of 


INTR  OD  UC  TORY.  5 

these  three  things :  either  from  the  pretence  to  feel  what  we  do 
not ;  the  indolence  in  exercises  necessary  to  obtain  the  power  of 
expressing  the  truth ;  or  the  presumptuous  insistence  upon,  and 
indulgence  in,  our  own  powers  and  delights,  and  with  no  care  or 
wish  that  they  should  be  useful  to  other  people,  so  only  they  be 
admired  by  them." 

This,  written  primarily  with  reference  to  painting,  applies  with 
equal  fitness  to  the  literary  art ;  and  the  order  in  which  the  faults 
are  named  corresponds  to  the  frequency  of  their  occurrence. 

First  and  commonest,,  insincerity.  By  this  is  not  meant  that 
writers  intentionally  make  pretence  of  feeling  what  they  do  not. 
None  the  less  truly,  however,  they  may  fall  into  insincerity  and 
unreality,  by  unconsidered  use  of  conventionalisms,  stock  expres- 
sions, outworn  figures,  and  the  like.  Young  writers  especially  are 
liable  to  employ  such  ready-made  and  stereotyped  resources,  with- 
out stopping  to  think  how  much  or  how  little  they  mean ;  and 
thus  they  commit  themselves  to  what  does  not  represent  their 
genuine  thought.  —  Secondly,  "  indolence  in  exercises  necessary 
to  obtain  the  power  of  expressing  the  truth."  This  fault  is  the 
special  temptation  of  those  to  whom  composition  comes  easy ; 
they  think  their  cleverness  will  obviate  the  necessity  of  discipline. 
Thus  the  very  innate  aptitude  which  is  so  full  of  promise  may  be- 
come a  snare  to  them,  through  being  undervalued.  It  is  to  be 
remembered  that  this  art,  like  every  other,  has  its  technicalities, 
which  require  and  repay  all  the  diligence  and  minuteness  of  care 
that  can  be  expended  upon  them.  —  Lastly,  rhetorical  vanity. 
This  comes  from  being  so  taken  with  literary  devices  and  artifices 
as  to  rate  form  before  thought ;  and  it  manifests  itself  in  manner- 
isms, affectations,  tricks  of  style,  and  the  like.  It  must  always  be 
borne  in  mind  that  rhetoric  does  not  exist  for  itself,  but  only  as 
the  handmaid  of  the  truth  which  it  seeks  to  make  living  in  the 
minds  and  hearts  of  men. 

Initial  Difficulties  of  the  Art  of  Rhetoric.  —  These  are  just  such 
as  occur  in  the  beginning  of  every  art :  the  difficulty,  to  wit,  of 
making  skilled  achievement  take  the  place  of  crude,  undisciplined 


6  INTRODUC  TOR  Y. 

effort.  To  submit  one's  work  in  composition  to  rules  is  to  regulate 
the  free  creative  impulse  by  critical  processes ;  and  this,  until  the 
writer  gets  used  to  it,  is  apt  to  check  and  chill  the  flow  of  thought. 
Beginning  thus,  literary  work  is  too  self-conscious,  and  the  art  of 
the  discourse  too  apparent.  But  such  a  self-conscious  stage  in  the 
writer's  experience  cannot  well  be  avoided ;  it  is  merely  a  sign  that 
the  art  is  not  fully  mastered.  Sooner  or  later  rhetorical  rules  must 
be  learned,  either  from  precept  or  from  experience  ;  for  they  are 
not  arbitrarily  invented,  as  something  that  a  writer  may  treat  as  he 
will,  but  discovered  and  deduced  from  confessedly  good  usage,  as 
principles  that  must  be  observed.  The  question  therefore  is, 
whether  the  writer  will  learn  without  rules,  by  blundering  experi- 
ence, or  take  what  the  approved  procedure  of  others  has  found  to 
be  best.  Nor  can  the  answer  be  doubtful.  The  true  way  is  to 
submit  to  rhetorical  laws  and  methods  ;  and  though  these  may  in 
the  beginning  be  obtrusive  and  tyrannical,  by  diligent  practice 
they  will  become  second  nature. 

The  crowning  excellence  of  skilled  expression,  as  all  acknowl- 
edge, is  naturalness.  But  such  an  achievement,  wherein  everything 
seems  in  its  right  place  and  degree,  we  call  also  artistic.  Art  at  its 
highest  and  nature  at  its  truest  are  one.  The  result  appears 
ideally  free  from,  pains  and  effort ;  this,  however,  not  because  art  is 
not  present,  but  because  the  art  is  so  perfect  as  to  have  concealed 
its  processes. 

III. 

Province  and  Distribution  of  Rhetoric.  — The  art  of  rhetoric, 
in  its  endeavor  to  adapt  discourse  to  the  requirements  of  the 
reader  or  hearer,  must  naturally  take  for  its  province  all  the  plans 
and  procedures  included  in  the  construction  of  a  literary  work. 
In  so  doing,  however,  it  cannot  undertake  to  legislate  for  individ- 
ual cases.  Its  business  is  merely  to  point  out  the  resources  at  the 
writer's  command,  with  the  mental  habits  necessary  to  the  mastery 
of  them ;  and  to  give  cautions  against  whatever  is  unskilled  and 
unadapted.  Beyond  this,  in  all  the  actual  work  of  authorship,  it 


INTRODUCTORY.  7 

must  leave  him  to  his  own  powers  and  judgments.  Rhetoric  can- 
not make  a  writer ;  it  can  neither  enhance  the  value  of  his  thought 
nor  impart  real  character  to  his  expression ;  it  can  only  bring  him 
to  the  point  where,  if  he  has  ability,  that  ability  may  rightly  prove 
itself.  In  a  word,  its  province  is  to  supply  such  directions  for  self- 
culture  that  the  author,  having  submitted  to  its  guidance,  may  be 
able  to  utter  his  conceptions  confidently  and  with  self-reliance. 

In  the  construction  of  a  work  of  literature  we  discern  two  differ- 
ent lines  of  mental  activity,  which,  starting  from  widely  separated 
points,  converge  to  a  common  result  in  the  completed  product. 
The  one  is  the  line  of  thought,  or  matter ;  the  other  the  line  of 
expression,  or  manner.  Of  course  a  question  of  expression  must 
often  involve  the  question  of  thought  also,  and  vice  versa  ;  so  the 
two  lines  of  study  must  continually  touch  and  interact ;  but  on  the 
whole  they  are  distinct  enough  to  furnish  what  is  perhaps  the  sim- 
plest working  basis  for  the  distribution  of  the  art.  The  principles 
of  rhetoric  therefore  group  themselves  naturally  around  two  main 
topics  :  style,  which  deals  with  the  expression  of  discourse,  and 
invention,  which  deals  with  the  thought. 

Style.  —  Under  this  heading  are  discussed  the  various  rhetori- 
cal principles  that  are  developed  from  grammar  :  how  to  use  words 
and  figures,  and  how  to  build  them  together  so  as  to  impart  to  the 
whole  a  desired  power  and  quality.  The  sphere  of  the  work  of 
style  is  the  construction  of  sentences  and  paragraphs.  Herein  are 
comprised,  it  will  be  observed,  the  more  mechanical  features  of  the 
art,  features  too  often  shunned  on  account  of  their  dryness,  but, 
like  the  prosaic  technicalities  of  every  art,  elements  that  can  least 
be  spared,  principles  that  must  accompany  the  writer  at  every  step, 
whatever  the  form  of  his  undertaking.  Nor  is  the  dryness  so  much 
real  as  fancied.  Details  of  expression  are  repulsive  only  to  the 
lazy  or  the  listless ;  let  the  writer  once  feel  the  greatness  and 
importance  of  his  subject,  and  every  word  that  goes  to  increase 
its  effectiveness  is  full  of  interest. 

Invention.  — Under  this  heading  are  comprised,  roughly  speak- 
ing, the  various  features  of  discourse  that  are  developed  from  logic  : 


8  INTRODUCTORY. 

how  to  work  out  a  line  of  thought  from  its  central  theme  through 
its  outline  to  its  final  amplified  form ;  and  how  to  select,  arrange, 
and  modify  it  for  the  requirements  of  the  various  literary  types. 
Observe,  the  sphere  of  invention,  so  far  as  invention  can  be  taught 
by  a  treatise,  is  only  partly  indicated  in  the  derivation  of  the 
word ;  nor  can  it  be  concerned  so  much  with  the  question  what 
material  to  find  as  with  the  question  how  to  find  it.  All  the  work 
of  origination  must  be  left  to  the  writer  himself;  the  rhetorical 
text-book  can  merely  treat  of  those  mental  habits  and  powers 
which  give  firmness  and  system  to  his  suggestive  faculty,  and  the 
principles  and  procedures  involved  in  the  determination  of  any 
literary  form. 


I. 

STYLE. 


"  The  style  which  deals  in  long  sentences  or  in  short  sentences,  or  indeed 
which  has  any  trick  in  it,  is  a  bad  style.  .  .  .  The  best  thing  which,  to  my  mind, 
has  ever  been  said  about  style  was  said  in  a  metaphorical  way,  the  writer  de- 
claring that  the  style  should,  as  it  were,  involve  and  display  the  subject-matter, 
as  the  drapery  in  a  consummate  statue  folds  over  and  around  the  figure."  — 
Sir  Arthur  Helps. 


STYLE. 


Order  of  Rhetorical  Study.  —  It  is  with  design  that  the  order 
here  followed  is  chosen  for  the  two  main  divisions  of  a  rhetorical 
course,  —  that  the  part  relating  to  expression  precedes  the  part 
relating  to  the  thought.  For  this  corresponds  to  the  logical  order 
which  all  arts,  as  well  as  the  art  of  discourse,  must  observe.  The 
first  care  in  every  art  is  devoted  to  technical  details,  to  those 
minutise  of  treatment  which,  it  may  be,  escape  notice  in  the  per- 
fected whole,  but  whose  presence  or  absence  makes  all  the  differ- 
ence between  skill  and  crudeness.  "  In  all  arts,"  says  Edmund 
Clarence  Stedman,1  "  the  natural  advance  is  from  detail  to  general 
effect.  How  seldom  those  who  begin  with  a  broad  treatment, 
which  apes  maturity,  acquire  subsequently  the  minor  graces  that 
alone  can  finish  the  perfect  work  !  "  From  this  remark  he  goes 
on  to  describe  a  poet  of  this  century  (Tennyson),  who  in  the  be- 
ginning of  his  career  "devoted  himself,  with  the  eager  spirit  of 
youth,  to  mastering  this  exquisite  art,  and  wreaked  his  thoughts 
upon  expression,  for  ^the  expression's  sake.  And  what  else,"  Mr. 
Stedman  then  pertinently  asks,  "  should  one  attempt,  with  small 
experiences,  little  concern  for  the  real  world,  and  less  observa- 
tion of  it?" 

Following  then  this  natural  order,  it  is  important  that  the  stu- 
dent of  composition  begin  with  thorough  investigation  of  the  re- 
sources of  expression,  and  with  diligent  practice  in  them,  just  as 
the  musician  begins  with  finger  exercises,  and  the  artist  with  draw- 
ing from  models.  Such  initial  discipline  is  valuable  both  in  itself 
and  in  its  results;  for  it  is  the  best  and  directest  means  of 
awakening  that  insatiable  desire  for  accuracy,  in  statement  and  in 
I  "Victorian  Poets,"  p.  156. 


12  STYLE. 

thought,  which  is  the  indispensable  accompaniment  of  honest 
writing,  that  feeling  which  forbids  the  author  to  rest  until  both  the 
expression  and  the  idea,  both  style  and  invention,  are  conformed 
throughout  to  a  sternly  chosen  standard. 

Nor  is  this  technical  practice  in  style  to  be  confined  to  the  first 
period  of  the  literary  art,  as  if  it  could  be  mastered  once  for  all 
and  then  neglected.  Rather,  it  is  present  always,  in  the  construc- 
tion of  every  phrase  and  sentence.  Its  order  is  logical  rather  than 
chronological.  In  every  literary  undertaking,  and  with  care  for  it 
increasing  instead  of  diminishing,  the  skilled  writer's  fundamental 
labor  is  devoted  to  patient  management  of  details  and  particulars, 
weighing  of  words,  sifting  and  shaping  of  minute  considerations, 
until  with  unhasting  pains  everything  is  fitted  to  its  place.  And 
the  result  of  such  diligence  is  increasing  fineness  of  taste  for  ex- 
pression, and  increasing  keenness  of  sense  for  all  that  contributes, 
in  however  small  degree,  toward  making  the  utterance  of  thought 
perfect. 


STYLE  IN  GENERAL.  13 


CHAPTER   I. 

STYLE   IN   GENERAL. 

I. 

Definition  of  Style.  —  By  style  is  meant,  in  general,  manner  of 
expressing  thought  in  language ;  and  more  particularly,  of  giving 
it  such  skillful  expression  as  invests  the  ictea  with  fitting  dignity  and 
distinction. 

Some  modes  of  exhibiting  facts,  as  in  statistics,  reference-tables, 
formulae,  and  the  like,  are  too  rudimentary  to  admit  the  idea  of 
style.  There  can  be  no  degrees  of  effectiveness  in  the  presenta- 
tion of  them,  nor  is  such  effectiveness  looked  for ;  their  interest 
centres  solely  in  the  thing  that  is  said.  A  work  characterized  by 
style  derives  equal  importance  from  the  particular  manner  of  say- 
ing a  thing :  there  is  a  force  or  a  felicity  in  the  use  of  language 
that  adapts  the  thought  to  the  occasion,  and  gives  it  fullness  and 
power.  That  is,  there  must  be  some  dignity  or  distinction  in  the 
expression  before  we  can  begin  to  estimate  it  as  style.  By  its  style 
the  thought  is  made  to  stand  out  as  adapted  to  act  upon  men. 

NOTE.  —  To  illustrate  how  great  a  difference  there  may  be  in  the  manner 
of  saying  a  thing,  and  how  much  a  thought  may  be  enriched  by  its  style,  com- 
pare the  following  passages. 

i.  The  first,  quoted  from  the  North  American  Review,  has  occasion  only  to 
give  statistics,  and  hence  contains  little  if  any  thought  of  style :  — 

"  I  have  stated  the  taxable  value  of  all  the  property  of  Texas  at  six  hundred 
and  three  millions  of  dollars.  Let  me  enumerate,  in  round  numbers,  a  few  of 
the  items  which  go  to  make  up  that  sum. 

"  The  land  is  counted  at  about  two  hundred  and  forty-seven  millions,  not 
including  eighty-six  millions  for  town  lots.  Cattle  stand  for  eighty-one  mil- 
lions; horses,  thirty-two  millions;  sheep,  nine  millions;  and  hogs,  two  mil- 
lions. The  assessed  value  of  railroads  is  forty  millions.  The  merchandise  of 
the  State  is  put  down  at  twenty-nine  millions;  and  the  money  on  hand,  twelve 
millions  and  a  half." 


14  STYLE  IN  GENERAL. 

2.  The  second,  quoted  from  Lowell's  "  Fireside  Travels,"  deals  indeed  with 
a  simple  thought,  but  notice  how  much  the  author's  mind  adds  to  it  from  its 
own  resources,  in  play  of  fancy,  figurative  suggestiveness,  quotation,  allusion, 
so  that  the  idea  is  enriched  by  the  sparkle  and  play  of  many  associated 
ideas :  — 

"  When  our  dinner  came,  and  with  it  a  flask  of  drowsy  red  Aleatico,  like 
ink  with  a  suspicion  of  life-blood  in  it,  such  as  one  might  fancy  Shakespeare 
to  have  dipped  his  quill  in,  we  had  our  table  so  placed  that  the  satisfaction  of 
our  hunger  might  be  dissensualized  by  the  view  from  the  windows.  Many  a  glut- 
ton has  eaten  up  farms  and  woodlands  and  pastures,  and  so  did  we,  aestheti- 
cally, saucing  our  frittata  and  flavoring  our  Aleatico  with  landscape.  It  is  a 
fine  thing  when  we  can  accustom  our  animal  appetites  to  good  society,  when 
body  and  soul  (like  master  and  servant  in  an  Arab  tent)  sit  down  together  at 
the  same  board.  This  thought  is  forced  upon  one  very  often  in  Italy,  as  one 
picnics  in  enchanted  spots,  where  Imagination  and  Fancy  play  the  parts  of  the 
unseen  waiters  in  the  fairy-story,  and  serve  us  with  course  after  course  of  their 
ethereal  dishes.  Sense  is  satisfied  with  less  and  simpler  food  when  sense  and 
spirit  are  fed  together,  and  the  feast  of  the  loaves  and  fishes  is  spread  for  us 
anew.  If  it  be  important  for  a  state  to  educate  its  lower  classes,  so  is  it  for 
us  personally  to  instruct,  elevate,  and  refine  our  senses,  the  lower  classes  of 
our  private  body-politic,  and  which,  if  left  to  their  own  brute  instincts,  will  dis- 
order or  destroy  the  whole  commonwealth  with  flaming  insurrection." 

Between  these  two  opposite  poles  of  expression  lies  the  broad  and  diversi- 
fied domain  of  literary  style. 

Among  practical  people  there  is  sometimes  a  disposition  to 
decry  any  endeavor  after  style,  and  along  with  it  any  study  of 
rhetoric,  as  if  all  had  to  do  only  with  tricks  and  subtleties  of  ex- 
pression, or  with  cunning  artifices  of  logic.  Plain  and  direct  state- 
ment, without  art,  is  the  favorite  plea  of  such  people ;  like  the 
Franklin  in  the  Canterbury  Tales,  they  take  for  granted  that  com- 
mon speech  is  excluded  from  the  province  of  rhetoric  :  — 

"  At  my  bigynnyng  first  I  yow  biseche, 
Have  me  excused  of  my  rude  speche. 
I  lerned  nevere  rethorik  certeyn; 
Thyng  that  I  speke  it  moot  be  bare  and  pleyn." 

This  plea  merely  betrays  a  wrong  idea  of  what  style  is.  Plainness 
and  directness,  even  bareness  of  statement,  belong,  in  their  place, 
as  truly  to  style  as  does  elegance ;  indeed,  these  apparently  simpler 


STYLE  IN  GENERAL.  15 

qualities  are  often  the  most  difficult  to  obtain.  "  To  press  to  the 
sense  of  the  thing  itself  with  which  one  is  dealing,"  says  Matthew 
Arnold,  "  not  to  go  off  on  some  collateral  issue  about  the  thing,  is 
the  hardest  matter  in  the  world."  The  criterion  of  a  style  is  fur- 
nished first  of  all  by  the  requirements  of  the  subject-matter.  While 
the  expression  of  some  ideas  may  stop  with  plainness,  other  ideas 
must  take  higher  qualities.  Some  thoughts  are  essentially  beautiful 
or  subtle,  and  scorn  a  bald  and  rudimentary  statement ;  others  are 
in  their  nature  rugged  or  ponderous  or  incisive,  and  the  force  of 
the  expression  must  correspond.  Style  is  just  the  skillful  adaptation 
of  expression  to  thought. 

That  manner  of  expression  is  all-important  is  shown  by  those 
literary  works  that  survive  their  age  and  become  classic.  The  pro- 
ductions that  take  their  place  among  the  world's  undying  treasures 
of  literature  are  invariably  and  exclusively  such  as  possess  eminent 
merits  of  style.  All  others,  though  they  deal  with  the  same  thought, 
are,  so  to  say,  melted  back  into  the  bullion  of  rudimental  ideas, 
until  their  thought,  masterfully  expressed,  is  fitted  to  live. 

While,  however,  we  speak  of  thought  and  expression  as  two 
things,  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  style  is  not  to  be  regarded  as 
separable  from  the  thought.  It  is  not,  and  cannot  be,  something 
added  from  without.  Any  such  thing  brought  in  as  a  finery,  or  a 
mere  device,  betrays  its  unfitness  at  once.  If  it  is  not  required  by 
the  thought,  it  does  not  rightly  belong  to  the  style.  For  the  style 
is  the  thought,  freed  from  crudeness  and  incompleteness,  and  pre- 
sented in  its  intrinsic  power  and  beauty.  And  the  writer's  supreme 
effort  is  directed,  not  so  much  to  the  qualities  of  style  in  themselves, 
as  to  the  demands  of  his  subject,  in  order  to  bring  out  in  its  fullness 
what  is  essentially  there. 

How  far  Style  is  Communicable.  — True  as  it  is  that  the  style 
is  the  thought,  it  is  equally  true  that  the  style  is  the  man.  No  two 
persons  have  the  same  way  of  looking  at  things.  Each  writer 
imparts  something  of  his  own  personality  to  what  he  writes ;  so 
that  the  vigor  of  his  activities,  the  earnestness  of  his  convictions, 
the  grace  of  his  fancies,  live  again  in  a  manner  of  expression  that 


16  STYLE  IN  GENERAL. 

would  be  natural  to  no  one  else.  His  style  is  the  mirror  of  his 
mind  and  character.  Thus  there  is  an  individuality  in  every  man's 
style  which  is  incommunicable.  The  grace  and  power  of  it  can  be 
felt  and  interpreted,  but  it  cannot  well  be  imitated,  —  or  at  least 
any  imitation  is  sure  to  be  weak  and  insincere.  An  author's  pecu- 
liar manner  may  furnish  valuable  suggestions,' by  which  others  may 
improve  their  own  style  ;  a  vigorous  thinker  may  even  set  a  pattern 
of  writing  for  his  generation,  and  thus  materially  influence  the  gen- 
eral style  of  his  age ; l  but  yet,  beyond  all  this,  every  man  who 
would  write  with  power  must  seek  his  own  natural  expression,  must 
be  himself,  in  an  individuality  as  incommunicable  as  he  sees  in  the 
work  of  others. 

But  while  the  personal  qualities  are  incommunicable,  there  are 
features  of  style  that  may  be  taught  and  acquired,  being  largely  a 
matter  of  discipline  and  care.  Such  are  the  grammatical  and  log- 
ical principles  of  expression.  Not  every  one  can  learn  to  write  in 
a  masterly  style ;  but  every  one  can  learn  to  write  honestly,  can 
clear  his  language  of  ambiguities  and  inconsistencies,  can  unlearn 
false  and  vulgar  tastes.  Every  one  can  form  the  habit  of  weighing 
words  and  constructions,  and  of  making  his  thought  direct  and 
definite.  These  are  lower  qualities  of  style,  it  is  true ;  but  they 
are  fundamental,  and  indispensable  to  the  higher.  And  when  one 
has  acquired  these,  he  has  at  least  the  medium  of  useful  expression, 
which  all  need,  and  which  is  all  that  most  people  have  occasion 
for. 

The  impersonal  features  of  style,  such  as  are  developed  from 
grammar  and  logic,  it  is  within  the  province  of  a  text-book  to 
teach.  Accordingly  such  a  manual  as  the  present  concerns  itself 
with  the  shaping  of  language  to  thought,  and  with  pointing  out  the 
value  and  use  of  the  various  resources  of  expression,  from  the  choice 
of  words  up  to  the  construction  of  an  entire  discourse.  In  so  doing 
it  may  also  give  counsel  regarding  literary  habits  and  methods  in 

1  Of  the  writers  of  this  century,  Macaulay  is  perhaps  the  most  remarkable  illus- 
tration of  this  fact.  More  than  can  well  be  estimated,  the  current  style  of  writing, 
especially  in  journalistic  and  periodical  literature,  has  profited  in  crispness  and 
interest,  since  he  first  gave  to  the  world  his  vigorous  and  pointed  sentences. 


STYLE  IN  GENERAL.  17 

general,  may  show  the  writer  how  to  educate  his  thinking  powers, 
may  put  him  in  the  way  to  develop  a  pure  taste.  Such  is  the  task 
recognized  in  the  present  course  of  rhetorical  study. 

II. 

What  Adaptations  of  Style  are  Essential.  —  Three  factors 
are  to  be  noted  as  necessary  in  the  perfect  adaptation  of  any  style, 
or  any  quality  of  style,  to  its  purpose.  To  satisfy  these  is  the  work 
of  skill  and  calculation  in  any  particular  case,  but  also  it  depends 
fully  as  much  on  the  writer's  general  culture. 

1.  The  writer  needs  to  have  a  just  feeling  of  the  relation  between 
style  and  thought.     Just  as  there  are  different  planes  of  thinking, 
so  there  are  different  levels  of  style.  Some  thought  is  common  and 
homely,  and  any  attempt  to  dress  it  up  in  splendor  of  language 
makes  it  appear  tawdry.     Some  thought,  and  the  expression  given 
to  it,  needs  to  be  severe,  sententious,  precise.    Other  thought  there 
is  that  requires  all  the  resources  of  fancy  and  imagery  that  can  be 
employed.     The  nature  of  the  thought  is  indeed  the  first  dictator 
of  the  style  ;  but  to  obey  its  dictates  unerringly,  and  make  manner 
answer  perfectly  to  matter,  is  the  result  of  no  little  skill. 

The  perfect  adjustment  of  style  to  thought  depends  mainly  on  a 
matured  and  educated  taste.  Such  taste  is  developed  by  familiarity 
with  the  usage  of  the  best  writers,  and  by  watchful  care  over  one's 
own  speech.  By  his  '•  daily  habits  of  reading  and  conversation,  if 
they  are  rightly  regulated,  one  may  form  almost  insensibly  a  literary 
instinct,  which  enables  him  to  detect  at  once  a  false  note  in  expres- 
sion ;  he  feels  when  a  word  adds  a  real  poetic  touch,  and  when  it 
is  only  tinsel ;  or  when  a  prosaic  word  flats  the  tone  of  an  impas- 
sioned passage  ;  or  when  a  colloquialism  impairs  the  dignity  of  a 
severe  and  elevated  thought. 

2.  The  writer  needs  to  recognize  the  relation  of  the  style  to  the 
reader.     Most  truths  belong  to  all  men,  and  need  to  be  expressed 
in  a  style  that  $nay  be  understood  by  all ;  but  some,  which  are 
technical  and  belong  only  to  a  class,  may  on  occasion  be  expressed 
in  the  language  of  that  class.    Thinking  readers  take  special  pleas- 


18  STYLE  IN  GENERAL. 

ure  in  severe  and  precise  expression ;  imaginative  readers  look  for 
and  value  the  graces  of  style ;  cursory  readers  may  be  arrested  by 
a  flavor  of  wit  and  pungency,  or  by  the  confidential  tone  of  a  con- 
versational manner.  All  such  things  the  writer  must  remember,  and 
seek  to  adapt  his  work  to  the  capacities  and  powers  of  his  readers. 
The  fault  is  often  mentioned  of  an  orator's  speaking  over  the  heads 
of  his  audience  :  the  complaint  means  that  he  is  too  inflexible  in 
his  individual  ways  of  thinking  and  does  not  simplify  for  the  needs 
of  others  than  himself. 

The  writer  cannot  easily  go  astray  in  seeking  to  adapt  his  words 
to  minds  of  ordinary  capacity ;  and  this  he  may  the  more  safely  do 
because,  while  the  unlearned  require  plainness  of  speech,  the  truly 
cultured  are  the  last  to  despise  simplicity.  To  effect  such  adapta- 
tion, leading  authors  have  found  it  of  great  advantage  to  write  as  in 
the  presence  of  an  audience,  to  imagine  themselves  conversing  with 
a  person  of  average  intelligence,  who  must  be  made  to  appreciate 
the  thought  according  to  its  nature.  This  is  indeed  the  truest  and 
simplest  basis  of  discourse,  —  to  write  as  one  would  speak. 

3.  The  writer  needs  to  make  his  style  adequately  represent 
himself.  By  this  is  meant  that  he  is  to  present  his  ideas  and  con- 
victions fully  and  naturally,  without  disadvantage  from  an  imper- 
fectly mastered  medium  of  communication.  The  ability  to  do  this 
is  by  no  means  the  easy  matter  it  seems.  The  writer  may  be 
glowing  with  the  beauty  or  importance  of  a  truth,  and  yet  his 
attempt  to  express  it  may  result,  with  his  best  efforts,  only  in 
frigid  and  stilted  language.  He  may  in  conversation  be  perfectly 
fluent  and  natural,  and  yet  write  a  pedantic  or  lifeless  style.1  The 
fault  lies  in  imperfect  or  insufficient  training.  His  power  over 
expression  needs  to  be  so  developed  by  culture,  needs  to  become 
so  truly  a  second  nature,  that  his  written  words  may  be  a  sponta- 
neous, undimmed  reflection  of  his  mind's  working.  Until  such 
mastery  is  attained,  his  style  disguises,  not  represents,  himself. 

1  "  Tom  Birch  is  as  brisk  as  a  bee  in  conversation ;  but  no  sooner  does  he  take  a 
pen  in  his  hand,  than  it  becomes  a  torpedo  to  him,  and  benumbs  all  his  faculties." 
—  Remark  attributed  to  Dr.  Johnson,  Boswell's  Life. 


STYLE  IN  GENERAL.  19 

The  adaptation  of  the  writer's  style  to  himself  depends  mainly 
on  diligent  and  painstaking  practice.  It  cannot  come  with  the 
first  attempt,  nor  with  the  second ;  it  is  the  result  only  of  long 
labor,  and  patient  subdual  of  the  intractable  elements  of  expression, 
until  they  become  an  obedient  working-tool,  responding  to  every 
touch,  and  represent  not  only  the  writer's  thought  but  himself,  in 
all  the  rich  endowments  of  his  nature. 

III. 

What  Qualities  a  Good  Style,  apart  from  its  Individuality, 
should  have. — The  cardinal  qualities  of  a  good  style  may  be 
reduced  to  three,  which  are  here  given  in  the  order  of  their  uni- 
versality and  importance. 

I.  The  first  and  indispensable  quality  of  a  good  style  is  Clear- 
ness. 

Generally  it  is  enough  if  the  writer  devote^  his  efforts  simply  to 
being  understood ;  let  this  be  secured,  and  other  qualities  will 
come  largely  of  themselves.  Such  plainness,  such  clearness,  is  the 
foundation  on  which  all  other  qualities  are  built ;  force  or  elegance 
of  style  counts  for  little,  and  seems  indeed  out  of  place,  unless 
there  is  clear  conception  and  expression  under  it.  Nor  is  it 
enough  for  perfect  clearness  that  a  style  be  intelligible.  Quintilian 
puts  the  ideal  still  higher.  "  Non  ut  intellegere  possit,  sed  ne 
omnino  possit  non  intellegere,  curandum  ;  "  not  language  that  may 
be  understood,  but  language  that  cannot  be  misunderstood,  is  the 
writer's  true  aim. 

The  quality  of  clearness,  according  as  the  writer's  concern  is 
predominantly  with  the  thought  or  with  the  reader,  takes  two 
aspects. 

i.  Precision,  or  faithfulness  to  the  thought.  A  well-mastered 
and  clearly  defined  thought  gives  the  impulse  to  careful  work 
with  the  medium  of  expression ;  hence  its  outcome  is  precision  of 
style. 


20  STYLE  IN  GENERAL. 

Precision  depends  chiefly  on  the  choice  of  words,  and  especially 
with  recognition  of  their  fine  distinctions  and  shades  of  meaning. 
While  words  are  thus  weighed  and  discriminated,  critical  care  is 
equally  exercised  not  to  tolerate  anything  that  only  fills  up  or  pads 
out,  without  making  real  addition  to  the  thought.  The  habit  of 
carefulness  thus  generated  is  well  expressed  by  Walter  Savage 
Landor,  himself  an  acknowledged  master  of  precision  in  style,  in 
describing  his  own  methods  :  "  I  hate  false  words,  and  seek  with 
care,  difficulty,  and  moroseness  those  that  fit  the  thing."  And  the 
result  of  this  habit,  providing  as  it  does  for  the  finer  and  less 
obvious  features,  is  a  general  cleanness  and  chasteness  of  expres- 
sion, which  to  the  intelligent  reader  affords  peculiar  satisfaction. 

Too  exclusive  endeavor  after  precision  may  make  the  style  stiff 
and  angular ;  this  fault  is  of  course  to  be  guarded  against.  The 
ideal  is,  so  to  conceal  the  workmanship  that  the  reader  may  absorb 
the  thought  without  realizing  how  exact  and  careful  is  the  wording. 

2.  Perspicuity,  or  adaptedness  to  the  reader.  The  derivation 
of  the  word  perspicuity,  denoting  the  property  of  being  readily 
seen  through,  or  as  we  express  it  by  another  word,  transparency,  is 
a  just  indication  of  this  quality  of  style. 

Perspicuity  in  expression  is  due  mainly  to  the  grammatical  man- 
agement of  phrases  and  sentences,  and  is  perhaps  the  most  easily 
reduced  to  rules  of  any  of  the  qualities  of  style.  It  calls  for  the 
mental  habit  of  keeping  strict  note  of  all  relations  of  words  to  each 
other,  of  leaving  no  word  till  its  grammatical  connexions  are  cared 
for,  and  of  hunting  out  all  possible  ambiguities,  vaguenesses,  incon- 
sistences.  And  the  ideal  sought  is,  everything  in  its  place,  every 
word  where  it  will  count  for  the  most  in  representing  the  thought. 

Perspicuity  and  precision  of  style  cannot  always  both  exist  in 
the  degree  that  is  desirable.  Some  thoughts  are  less  easy  to  make 
clear  than  others ;  and  sometimes  perfect  exactness  can  be  ob- 
tained only  at  the  sacrifice  of  some  ease  of  interpretation.  In 
such  cases,  where  the  writer  must  choose  between  the  two,  it  is 
generally  advisable  to  decide  for  the  precise  statement.  It  is 
unwise  to  impair  the  thought  for  the  sake  of  the  expression.  Let 


STYLE   IN  GENERAL.  21 

the  aim  be  first  faithfulness  to  the  thought,  and  secondly  intelli- 
gibility, so  far  as  the  idea  will  permit ;  and  few  cases  will  be  found 
where  with  reasonable  care  the  two  qualities  may  not  be  conjoined. 
3.  As  related  to  the  writer  himself,  clearness,  in  its  double 
aspect,  may  be  called  the  intellectual  quality  of  style.  Whatever 
trains  the  thinking  powers,  therefore,  in  discrimination,  in  grasp, 
in  vigor,  has  its  good  effect  toward  producing  clear  expression ; 
but  besides  this  there  is  also  needed  much  patient  and  systematic 
self-culture,  in  subduing  language  to  perfect  flexibility  and  obedi- 
ence. It  is  this  quality  of  style,  in  particular,  that  demands 
unwearied  interest  in  all  the  prosaic  details  of  composition. 

II.  To  the  quality  of  clearness  must  generally  be  added,  for  ade- 
quate effect,  the  quality  of  Force. 

Precise  and  perspicuous  expression,  being  the  staple,  the  back- 
bone of  composition,  is  to  be  cultivated  first  and  most  conscien- 
tiously of  all ;  but  the  cases  in  which  mere  clearness  is  enough, 
without  the  aid  of  other  qualities,  belong  to  the  comparatively 
elementary  forms  of  literature,  those  works  in  which  the  bare 
thought  is  all-sufficient  to  supply  the  interest.  But  when  the  idea 
comes  home  more  closely  to  reader  and  writer,  —  when  on  the 
one  hand  it  must  gain  lodgement  in  dull  minds  or  stimulate  a 
laggard  attention,  or  when  on  the  other,  its  importance  rouses  the 
writer's  enthusiasm  or  stirs  his  deep  convictions,  —  there  is  or 
must  be  imparted  to  it  greater  life  than  its  merely  intelligible 
statement  would  demand.  The  various  features  that  go  to  give 
life  and  emphasis  to  style  we  gather  under  the  general  quality  of 
force. 

i.  As  related  to  the  reader,  the  devices  for  obtaining  force  in 
expression  are,  like  those  for  obtaining  clearness,  simple  and 
readily  reduced  to  rules.  They  consist  in  choosing  words  that 
make  a  definite  and  particular  impression  instead  of  a  general  and 
vague  one  ;  in  choosing  words  that  mean  or  suggest  a  great  deal, 
and  so  stimulate  thought ;  and  especially  in  so  arranging  words  as 
to  bring  out  important  ideas  in  strong  relief.  The  mental  habit 


22  STYLE  IN  GENERAL. 

required,  therefore,  is,  study  of  the  power  of  words,  of  their 
dynamic  or  suggestive  qualities;  and  study  of  the  position  of 
words,  until  the  writer  can  feel  and  calculate  the  effect  of  every 
smallest  change  in  their  arrangement.  It  is  with  special  relation 
to  the  quality  of  force  that  the  assertion  holds,  Words  are  things. 

Closely  connected  with  force  of  expression,  and  generally  a 
promoter  of  it,  is  brevity.  A  strong  impression  needs  in  most 
cases  to  be  a  quick  impression.  Occasions  sometimes  rise,  there- 
fore, where  there  is  a  clash  between  force  and  clearness.  For 
while  clearness  demands  the  presence  of  particles  and  other  sub- 
ordinate words  that,  while  they  articulate  the  thought,  tend  also  to 
cumber  its  movement,  force  demands  that  these  be  cut  down  or 
dispensed  with,  as  far  as  may  be,  in  order  not  to  enfeeble  the  im- 
portant words.  In  such  cases,  when  one  quality  can  be  secured 
only  at  some  expense  to  the  other,  the  particular  object  in  view 
must  determine  the  decision.  The  writer  must  consider  whether 
this  object  can  best  be  promoted  by  fullness  of  statement,  or  by 
vigor  of  impression. 

2.  As  related  to  the  thought,  force  is  a  higher  quality,  less 
amenable   to  rules.     A  commonplace  subject   cannot   be   made 
forcible  by  manipulation  of  words ;  the  effect  is  only  a  contortion. 
On  the  other  hand,  a  strong  subject  scorns  languid  expression ;  it 
has  a  power  and  a  cogency  in  itself  that  compels  earnestness  and 
quickened  feeling  in  the  writer.     His  duty  in  this  respect,  there- 
fore, is  more  with  himself  than  with  his  methods ;  he  is  to  seek  to 
be  so  in  harmony  with  his  subject  that  his  conviction  of  its  impor- 
tance shall  not  fall  below  its  demands.     And  the  result  of  such 
harmony  is  a  general  vigor  and  virility  of  expression,  more  easily 
felt  than  described,  wherein  every  word  seems  to  have  its  mark 
and  to  take  deep  hold  of  the  author's  inner  life. 

3.  As  related  to  the  writer  himself,  force  may  be  regarded  as 
the  will-quality  of  style.     It  comes  most  genuinely  when  it  is 
sought  only  indirectly,  —  when  the  writer  is  determined  to  make 
the  reader  think  as  he  does,  and  throws  the  whole  energy  of  his 
nature  into  the  attainment  of  his  object.     This  calls  in  the  deepest 


STYLE  IN  GENERAL.  23 

sense  for  the  culture  of  character ;  the  writer  must  think  closely, 
look  upon  things  independently,  and  cherish  true  convictions. 
Let  these  be  secured,  and  the  writer  has  the  best  impulse  to  mas- 
ter those  more  mechanical  features  that  appear  in  the  perfected  art. 

III.  The  quality  of  style  supplementary  to  clearness  and  force  is 
Beauty. 

An  idea  may  be  stated  with  perfect  clearness,  may  make  also  a 
strong  impression  on  the  reader's  mind  and  heart ;  and  yet  many 
of  the  details  may  still  be  an  offense  to  his  taste ;  or  a  crude  ex- 
pression and  harsh  combinations  of  sound  may  impair  the  desired 
effect  by  compelling  attention  to  defective  form.  Any  such  dis- 
turbing element  is  a  blemish  in  the  style.  Nor  is  it  an  offense  to 
the  cultured  reader  alone.  Every  one  may  be  aware  that  a  style 
is  crude,  though  he  may  not  be  able  to  locate  or  explain  the  cause  ; 
and  when  an  idea  is  expressed  with  supreme  felicity  every  one  may 
appreciate  it.  There  is  needed,  therefore,  in  every  well-formed 
style,  an  element  of  beauty,  to  make  the  style  a  satisfaction  to  the 
reader's  taste,  as  well  as  to  his  thought  and  conviction. 

Beauty  in  style  is  by  no  means  synonymous  with  ornament ;  so 
far  from  it,  indeed,  that  the  question  of  elegances  and  decorations 
of  style  is  here  left  wholly  out  of  the  account,  belonging  as  it  does 
rather  to  the  peculiar  susceptibilities  of  a  subject,  or  to  the  excep- 
tional endowments  of  the  writer's  mind.  The  quality  of  beauty  is 
fundamental ;  supplementary  indeed  to  the  others,  and  ungenuine . 
unless  they  also  are  present,  but  just  as  necessary  as  they  are. 

i.  As  regards  its  mechanical  adaptedness  to  the  reader  or 
hearer,  the  quality  of  beauty  depends  mainly  on  sound.  The 
writer  needs  to  be  on  his  guard  against  successions  of  sounds 
hard  to  pronounce  together ;  against  jingling  recurrence  of  the 
same  sound ;  and  against  harsh  consecutions  of  accented  or  un- 
accented syllables.  Further,  he  needs  to  guard  against  hitches 
and  abruptness  in  construction,  and  against  ill  balance  in  clauses 
or  phrases  related  to  one  another.  In  a  word,  he  is  to  aim  at 
smoothness  and  melody  of  expression,  so  far  as  these  will  not 
impair  more  important  qualities. 


24  STYLE  IN  GENERAL. 

The  readiest  training  for  this  quality  of  style  is  to  subject  one's 
work  constantly  to  the  test  of  reading  aloud.  Prose  characterized 
by  beauty  requires  a  discipline  of  the  ear,  as  truly  as  does  music 
or  poetry.  It  is  indeed  a  test  in  which  much  reliance  may  be 
placed,  that  a  passage  should  sound  rightly. 

2.  As  related  to  the  thought,  beauty,  even  more  than  force,  is 
above  the  reach  of  mere  rules  and  precepts.     Just  as  a  forceful 
style  is  the  spontaneous  result  when  the  idea  is  intensified  by  ear- 
nest conviction,  so  beauty  is  the  result  when  the  idea  is  vivified 
by  the  imagination.     No  devices  or  methods  can  of  themselves 
produce  the  quality ;  its  ideal  lies  in  the  perfect  harmony  of  the 
form  with  a  true  taste  and  poetic  sensibility.     Sometimes,  there- 
fore, beauty  takes  the  shape  of  graceful  simplicity  ;  sometimes  the 
strength  and  even  the  ruggedness  of  a  passage  is  its  truest  beauty  ; 
and  sometimes  no  richness  of  coloring  and  imagery  can  be  too 
elaborate.     The  thought,  as  it  lives  and  works  in  a  cultivated  im- 
agination, is  the  dictator  of  the  form. 

The  external  indications  of  such  beauty  arey  harmony  of  sound 
and  sense,  rhythm,  and  picturesqueness  of  word  and  figure. 
These,  being  also  the  distinctive  features  of  poetic  diction,  are 
the  qualities  in  which  prose  approaches  nearest  to  poetry.  We 
find .  therefore  that  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  beauty,  as  the 
thought  requires,  prose  often  borrows  poetic  resources. 

3.  As  related  to  the  writer  himself,  beauty  is  the  aesthetic  qual- 
_  ity  of  style  ;  and  calls  for  culture  in  taste  and  in  perception  of  the 

music  of  word  and  thought.  Mechanical  devices  are  of  little 
worth  unless  the  writer  has  a  real  susceptibility  to  begin  with  ; 
nor  can  the  sense  of  beauty  be  imparted  from  without.  Any  be- 
ginning of  such  a  sense  may,  however  be  indefinitely  developed ; 
besides,  the  writer  may  be  unaware  of  his  innate  powers  until  the 
right  discipline  awakens  them.  There  is  no  reason,  therefore,  in 
the  case  of  any  one,  for  neglecting  such  culture. 

The  best  discipline  for  the  aesthetic  sense  in  style,  is  familiarity 
with  what  is  beautiful  in  literature.  By  a  law  of  nature  he  who 
dwells  habitually  among  beautiful  thoughts  will  become  imbued, 


STYLE  IN  GENERAL.  25 

in  mind  and  feeling,  with  their  beauty.  Let  the  writer  shun,  alike 
in  writing  and  in  conversation,  whatever  is  gross  and  deformed 
and  vulgar,  let  him  seek  to  appreciate  what  the  world's  taste  has 
pronounced  satisfying,  and  he  will  soon  find  himself  possessing 
susceptibilities  unsuspected  before. 

Summary  of  the  Qualities  of  Style.  —  Before  leaving  the  dis- 
cussion of  this  subject,  it  is  essential  to  note  how  intimately  the  car- 
dinal qualities  of  style  are  dependent  on  each  other.  So  inter- 
linked are  they  that  any  one  of  them  in  its  perfection  necessarily 
involves  to  a  greater  or  less  degree  the  others,  and  each  may 
almost  be  described  in  terms  of  the  others.  So  we  may  say  of 
force,  that  the  first  means  of  securing  it  is  clearness,  and  after- 
wards its  more  distinctive  devices ;  and  of  beauty,  that  its  first 
element  is  clearness,  its  second,  force.  And  may  it  not  indeed  be 
said  that  the  simple  pervasive  quality  of  clearness,  —  clearness  to 
the  mind,  clearness  to  the  convictions,  clearness  to  the  sensibili- 
ties, —  is  the  truest  secret  of  artistic  expression  ? 

To  be  genuine,  the  qualities  of  force  and  beauty,  in  their  higher 
significance,  must  come  for  the  most  part  unsought,  rising  natu- 
rally out  of  the  character  and  demands  of  the  subject-matter.  It 
is  precarious,  therefore,  to  work  for  them  directly ;  the  endeavor 
is  apt  to  result,  if  force  is  sought,  in  a  violent  style,  or  if  beauty, 
in  affectation.  Let  the  simple  aim  be,  perfect  fidelity  to  the 
thought,  in  its  fullness  and  importance,  as  it  must  be  imparted  to 
a  reader,  and  the  higher  qualities  will  no  doubt  come  in  satisfac- 
tory measure  of  themselves. 

IV. 

The  Principle  that  makes  these  Qualities  of  Style  Practical 
—  Economy.  —  Since  Herbert  Spencer  wrote  his  essay  on  "The 
Philosophy  of  Style,"  students  of  the  subject  have  universally  ac- 
cepted his  conclusion  therein  reached,  that  the  central  principle 
of  a  good  style  lies  in  the  economizing  of  the  reader's  attention. 
The  ideal  of  writing,  as  he  states  it,  is  "  to  so  present  ideas  that 
they  may  be  apprehended  with  the  least  possible  mental  effort." 
In  explanation  Mr.  Spencer  says  :  — 


26  STYLE  IN  GENERAL. 

"  Regarding  language  as  an  apparatus  of  symbols  for  the  con- 
veyance of  thought,  we  may  say  that,  as  in  a  mechanical  appara- 
tus, the  more  simple  and  the  better  arranged  its  parts,  the  greater 
will  be  the  effect  produced.  In  either  case,  whatever  force  is 
absorbed  by  the  machine  is  deducted  from  the  result.  A  reader 
or  listener  has  at  each  moment  but  a  limited  amount  of  mental 
power  available.  To  recognize  and  interpret  the  symbols  pre- 
sented to  him,  requires  part  of  this  power ;  to  arrange  and  com- 
bine the  images  suggested  requires  a  further  part ;  and  only  that 
part  which  remains  can  be  used  for  realizing  the  thought  con- 
veyed. Hence,  the  more  time  and  attention  it  takes  to  receive 
and  understand  each  sentence,  the  less  time  and  attention  can  be 
given  to  the  contained  idea ;  and  the  less  vividly  will  that  idea  be 
conceived." 

In  accordance  with  this  principle  of  economy,  the  foregoing 
qualities  of  style  may  be  briefly  recapitulated. 

i.  Economy  of  the  reader's  interpreting  power.  This  may  be 
secured,  according  to  occasion,  in  two  ways. 

First,  by  giving  the  reader  less  to  do ;  that  is,  by  reducing  the 
difficulties  of  the  mechanism  of  expression  to  a  minimum,  so  that 
all  the  reader's  energy  may  be  employed  in  realizing  the  thought 
itself.  This,  which  is  illustrated  in  the  paragraph  from  Mr.  Spen- 
cer quoted  above,  is  the  economy  effected  by  the  various  means 
employed  to  secure  clearness  of  style. 

Secondly,  by  stimulating  the  reader  to  do  more.  This  means  of 
economizing  power  is  fully  as  valuable  as  the  other,  and  not  to  be 
ignored.  What  is  too  easily  obtained  is  too  cheaply  held,  in  litera- 
ture as  in  everything  else  ;  and  not  infrequently  a  thought  is  prized 
the  more  from  some  effort  made  to  master  it.  In  the  matter  of 
economizing  attention,  then,  the  writer  must  be  wise ;  and  if 
instead  of  clearing  away  every  difficulty  he  uses  such  expression 
as  will  arouse  in  the  reader  something  of  his  own  creative  energy, 
his  object  is  even  more  effectually  secured.  Strong  and  suggestive 
language,  vigorous  imagery,  skillful  grouping  of  important  ideas,  are 
thus  a  second  means  of  economizing  interpreting  power.  These 
belong  to  the  general  quality  of  force  in  style. 


STYLE  IN  GENERAL.  27 

2.  Economy  of  the  reader's  sensibilities.  This  is  secured  partly 
by  force  and  partly  by  beauty  of  style. 

First,  when  an  emotion  is  once  roused  in  the  reader,  economy 
requires  that  it  be  wisely  conserved  and  utilized.  This  forbids,  for 
example,  following  an  image  or  appeal  by  one  less  vivid  or  vigor- 
ous ;  the  progress  should  rather  be  upward,  to  greater  interest  and 
strength.  It  forbids,  equally,  following  out  every  striking  suggestion 
to  its  utmost ;  if  the  reader's  mind  is  quickened,  let  it  have  some 
share  in  constructing  the  thought,  and  not  have  all  its  action  fore- 
stalled. This  fault,  which  is  known  as  "  writing  a  subject  to  the 
dregs,"  is  .one  of  the  surest  means  of  deadening  interest.  The 
activity  of  the  reader's  suggestive  faculty  should  be  wisely  main- 
tained ;  it  is  a  real  economy  of  his  feeling  and  power. 

Secondly,  the  reader's  sensibilities  are  economized  by  conciliat- 
ing his  aesthetic  sense.  Whatever  jars  on  his  taste,  or  his  feeling 
of  fitness,  is  so  much  of  an  obstruction  to  the  idea,  and  conse- 
quently uses  up  so  much  of  his  energy  for  nothing.  The  means  of 
promoting  this  economy  have  been  mentioned  under  the  head  of 
beauty  of  style. 


The  laws  of  style,  which  the  foregoing  chapter  has  defined  in 
general  terms,  it  will  now  be  the  business  of  the  rest  of  Part  I.  to 
apply  in  detail.  For  such  a  purpose  as  this,  the  various  inquiries 
concerning  style  may  be  conveniently  grouped  into  two  classes  of 
problems  :  the  first  comprising  what  relates  to  the  material  of  style, 
which  class  subdivides  itself  again  into  Words  and  Figures ;  the 
second  comprising  whatever  relates  to  the  building  together  of 
these  materials  into  literary  forms.  Accordingly,  the  subject  of 
style  in  detail,  as  discussed  in  the  following  three  chapters,  will  in- 
clude :  — 

Chapter    II.     Diction. 

Chapter  III.     Figures  of  Speech. 

Chapter  IV.     Composition. 


28  DICTION. 


CHAPTER   II. 

DICTION. 

Definition  of  Diction.  — The  word  diction  is  the  name  given  to 
that  aspect  or  department  of  style  which  has  to  do  with  words,  — 
principally  with  the  choice  of  words,  but  also,  in  a  general  way, 
and  independently  of  the  distinctive  details  of  composition,  with 
the  connexion  and  arrangement  of  words.  A  writer's  diction,  then, 
as  we  generally  speak  of  it,  is  the  kind  of  words  he  habitually  em- 
ploys to  convey  his  thoughts ;  which  words  we  find,  in  any  case, 
bear,  according  to  the  writer  and  the  kind  of  discourse,  a  distinc- 
tive character  that  enables  us  to  classify  them  as  a  kind  of  diction. 

Every  author  has  his  peculiar  diction,  and  so  has  every  kind  of 
literature.  But  beyond  these  individual  and  class  characteristics 
there  is  also  a  general  standard  of  diction,  which  every  writer  must 
regard.  That  standard,  or  ideal,  is  perhaps  best  expressed  by  the 
word  PURITY  ;  the  writer  must  see  to  it  that  he  keep  his  mother- 
tongue  unsullied ;  and  this  by  observing,  in  all  his  choice  of  lan- 
guage, the  laws  of  derivation,  usage,  adaptedness,  and  taste. 
Transgressions  of  the  standard  are  owing  to  want  of  culture  and 
tact,  either  in  the  general  knowledge  and  use  of  words,  or  in  the 
special  requirements  of  the  discourse  in  hand. 

The  requirements  of  pure  and  fitting  diction  will  be  discussed 
in  four  sections  :  on  the  choice  of  words ;  on  the  characteristics 
of  poetic  diction  ;  on  the  characteristics  and  types  of  prose  dic- 
tion ;  and  on  diction  as  determined  by  object  and  occasion. 


THE  CHOICE  OF  WORDS.  29 

SECTION  FIRST. 

THE  CHOICE  OF  WORDS. 

"  IF  there  is  one  thing  in  this  world,"  says  De  Quincey,  "  that, 
next  after  the  flag  of  his  country  and  its  spotless  honor,  should  be 
wholly  in  the  eyes  of  a  young  poet,  —  it  is  the  language  of  his 
country.  He  should  spend  the  third  part  of  his  life  in  studying 
this  language,  and  cultivating  its  total  resources.  He  should  be 
willing  to  pluck  out  his  right  eye,  or  to  circumnavigate  the  globe, 
if  by  such  a  sacrifice,  if  by  such  an  exertion,  he  could  attain  to 
greater  purity,  precision,  compass,  or  idiomatic  energy  of  diction." 
This  is  spoken  primarily  of  the  poet ;  but  it  is  hardly  an  exagger- 
ation of  the  ideal  of  the  conscientious  prose-writer.  The  impor- 
tance of  care,  patience,  scrupulous  minuteness,  in  the  study  and 
choice  of  words,  cannot  easily  be  overstated ;  it  is  by  such  a  habit 
alone  that  eminent  authors  have  written  what  the  world  could  ac- 
cept as  true  and  trustworthy.  Such  authors,  as  inquiry  always 
reveals,  observe  rigid  rules  and  standards. 

At  the  same  time,  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  rules  are  to  be 
the  writer's  servants,  not  his  tyrants ;  their  use  lies,  not  in  being 
apparent  as  rules,  but  in  guiding  to  results  that  have  the  freedom 
and  ease  of  nature.  The  man  is  to  be  ever  above  his  rules ;  this 
however  not  by  disregarding  them,  —  rather  by  so  mastering  them 
that  they  cease  to  be  mere  external  precepts  and  become  his 
readiest  mode  of  working. 

The  following  are  the  principal  rules  and  cautions  to  be  observed 
in  the  choice  of  words. 

I.    ACCURATE  USE. 

Under  this  head  are  given  those  rules  which  refer  in  general  to 
the  task  of  fitting  the  word  to  the  idea ;  of  removing  language, 
therefore,  on  the  one  side,  from  the  looseness  and  exaggeration  of 
ordinary  speech,  and  on  the  other,  from  incorrectness  owing  to 


30  THE   CHOICE    OF   WORDS. 

carelessness  and  ignorance.     They  are  rules  for  literary  habits  and 
culture,  fully  as  much  as  for  procedure  in  individual  cases. 

i.  In  the  choice  of  words,  let  the  paramount  consideration  be 
exactness. 

That  is,  seek  to  say  precisely  what  the  thought  requires,  neither 
more  nor  less.  This  demands  of  course  close  scrutiny  of  mean- 
ings, and  independence  of  current  fashions  in  words.  It  is  disas- 
trous for  a  writer  to  take  up  with  the  lazy  idea  that  a  word  is  "  not 
quite  right  but  near  enough  "  ;  nor  can  he  afford  to  adopt  without 
examination  what  "  everybody  says."  His  standard  must  be  abso- 
lute, —  not  what  will  do,  but  what  is  exactly  commensurate  with 
the  thought. 

NOTE.  —  The  following  cases  will  exemplify  the  most  frequent  violations  of 
exactness :  — 

1.  Dashing  use  of  vague  epithets,  as  heard  especially  in  ardent  conversa- 
tion :  "  The  falls  were  veryjine,  and  all  the  scenery  about  them  is  elegant.     At 
the  hotels  also  one  can  get  &  grand  dinner;   at  least  while  we  were  there  we 
fared  splendidly."    These  words  really  have  no  definite  meaning,  as  here  used  : 
a  more  significant  quality  is  attributed  to  a  dinner  than  to  the  sublimest  natural 
object. 

2.  Choice  of  words  a  little  aside  from  their  proper  meaning,  and  all  the 
more  misleading  because  only  a  little  wrong :  "  He  was  greatly  aggravated  by 
the  occurrence";   here  the  more  proper  word  would  be  "vexed"  or  "exas- 
perated."    "  Where  shall  I  be  liable  to  find  this  passage  of  poetry?" — here 
"  liable  "  is  improperly  used  for  "  likely." 

3.  Faults  to  which  young  writers  are  especially  liable  are,  generalizing  too 
hastily,  stating  things  too  absolutely,  and  off-hand  exaggeration.     Examples 
(from  student  essays):    "There   are  very  good  proofs  that  Chaucer  was  a 
Wyckliffite."     This  is  too  absolute  a  statement;    strong  enough  would  be, 
"  There  are  some  indications"  etc.     "  An  attempt  to  justify  the  treachery  of 
Benedict  Arnold."     This  was  certainly  a  hardy  attempt;   but  the  truer  title 
of  the  actual  endeavor  would  have  been,  "  An  attempt  to  extenuate  the  treach- 
ery," etc. 

2.  Seek  to  have  at  command  more  than  one  expression  for  the 
same  thing. 

Not  that  several  forms  of  expression  are  in  every  case  to  be 
employed ;  this,  of  course,  is  a  matter  that  must  be  determined  by 


THE    CHOICE   OF  WORDS.  31 

occasion.  But  it  often  happens  that  if  the  writer  has  not  thought 
broadly  and  deeply  enough  to  have  more  than  one  expression  for 
his  idea,  the  one  that  he  has  will  be  meagre.  "  The  one  apt 
word  "  is  very  generally  the  result  of  long  cogitation  and  debate 
between  alternative  locutions.  Recognizing  this  fact,  eminent 
writers  have  often  cultivated,  as  a  private  discipline,  the  habit  of 
putting  things  in  many  different  ways,  ringing  changes  in  expres- 
sion, softening  and  strengthening,  formalizing  and  colloquializing, 
condensing  and  expanding,  making  severely  accurate  and  making 
freely  loose.  Such  a  habit  is  of  untold  value  as  a  means  of  famil- 
iarizing the  literary  workman  with  his  tools. 

NOTE.  —  It  often  happens  that  a  close  thinker  has  an  idea  that  no  single 
word  is  adequate  to  express;  and  the  exact  thought  must  be  gathered  as  the 
resultant  of  several  approximating  words.  For  example :  "  It  is  true  that  all 
these  criticisms  were  written  some  years  ago,  and  in  the  meantime  a  tendency 
toward  a  better  state  of  things  has  begun  to  show  itself.  But  at  present  it  is 
only  a  tendency,  a  symptom,  a  foreshadowing."  Another  example  :  "  So  also 
Shakespeare  no  doubt  projected  himself  in  his  own  creations;  but  those  crea- 
tions never  became  so  perfectly  disengaged  from  him,  so  objective,  or,  as  they 
used  to  say,  extrinsical,  to  him,  as  to  react  upon  him  like  real  and  even  alien 
existences." 

This  principle  gives  great  importance  to  the  study  of  synonyms. 
The  mastery  of  synonymous  expressions  is  important,  first,  because 
of  their  points  of  resemblance.  For  often  the  writer  needs  to 
repeat  a  thought ;  or  while  he  is  elaborating  a  subject  the  princi- 
pal terms  must  of  necessity  recur  many  times  before  all  phases  of 
the  idea  are  treated.  In  such  cases  the  reiteration  of  one  term 
is  clumsy  and  rigid,  and  the  thought  seems  poor ;  and  the  con- 
stant problem  is,  how  to  find  words  that  may  be  substituted  and 
preserve  substantially  the  same  meaning.  Besides,  skillful  varia- 
tion of  the  expression  enriches  the  thought  by  adding  new  aspects 
of  it. 

•  EXAMPLE.  —  The  following  sentences  from  Matthew  Arnold,  who  is  a  mas- 
ter of  skillful  repetition,  will  illustrate  how  he  varies  the  expression  of  a 
repeated  idea.  The  subject  is  Macaulay's  Essay  on  Milton. 


32  THE   CHOICE    OF   WORDS. 

"A  reader  who  only  wants  (a)  rhetoric,  a  reader  who  wants  (If)  a  pane- 
gyric on  the  Puritans,  will  find  what  he  wants.  A  reader  who  wants  (c) 
criticism  will  be  disappointed.  This  would  be  palpable  to  all  the  world,  and 
every  one  would  feel,  not  pleased,  but  disappointed,  by  the  Essay  on  Milton, 
were  it  not  that  the  readers  who  seek  for  (V)  criticism  are  extremely  few; 
while  the  readers  who  seek  for  (a1)  rhetoric,  or  who  seek  for  (#)  praise  or 
blame  to  suit  their  own  already  established  likes  and  dislikes  are  extremely 
many.  .  .  .  However,  there  is  a  multitude  of  readers,  doubtless,  for  whom  it 
is  sufficient  to  have  their  ears  tickled  with  («")  fine  rhetoric;  but  the  tickling 
makes  a  serious  reader  impatient.  .  .  .  But  a  disinterested  reader,  whose  ob- 
ject is  not  (£")  to  hear  Puritanism  and  Milton  glorified,  but  (<:")  to  get  at  the 
truth  about  them,  will  surely  be  dissatisfied.  .  .  .  Human  progress  consists  in 
a  continual  increase  in  the  number  of  those,  who,  ceasing  to  live  by  the  animal 
life  alone  and  to  feel  the  pleasures  of  sense  only,  come  to  participate  in  the 
intellectual  life  also,  and  to  find  enjoyment  in  the  things  of  the  mind.  The 
enjoyment  is  not  at  first  very  discriminating.  («'")  Rhetoric,  brilliant  writ- 
ing, gives  to  such  persons  pleasure  for  its  own  sake;  but  it  gives  them  pleas- 
ure, still  more,  when  it  is  employed  (£"')  in  commendation  of  a  view  of  life 
which  is  on  the  whole  theirs,  and  of  men  and  causes  with  which  they  are 
naturally  in  sympathy.  .  .  .  But  with  the  increasing  number  of  those  who 
awake  to  the  intellectual  life,  the  number  of  those  also  increases,  who  having 
awoke  to  it,  go  on  with  it,  follow  it  where  it  leads  them.  And  it  leads  them 
to  see  that  it  is  their  business  (c"')  to  learn  the  real  truth  about  the  important 
men,  and  things,  and  books,  which  interest  the  human  mind.  For  thus  is 
gradually  (*"")  to  be  acquired  a  stock  of  sound  ideas,  in  which  the  mind  will 
habitually  move,  and  which  alone  can  give  to  our  judgments  security  and 
solidity.  To  be  satisfied  with  (a"")  fine  writing  about  the  object  of  one's 
study,  with  (£"")  having  it  praised  or  blamed  in  accordance  with  one's  own 
likes  and  dislikes,  with  any  conventional  treatment  of  it  whatever,  is  at  this 
stage  of  growth  seen  to  be  futile." 

Compare  the  expressions  here  marked  as  corresponding,  and  consider  how 
the  author  both  varies  and  makes  more  definite  and  significant  the  three  ideas, 
rhetoric,  panegyric,  and  criticism.  For  further  considerations  on  Repetition, 
see  Fundamental  Processes,  p.  1 60. 

The  mastery  of  synonyms  is  equally  important,  secondly,  be- 
cause of  their  points  of  difference.  Very  few  words  in  our  lan- 
guage are  exactly  alike  in  meaning.  Even  when  terms  derived 
from  different  sources  started  synonymous,  they  have  come  in 
course  of  time  to  be  employed  for  different  purposes  or  shades  of 
meaning.  And  these  very  points  of  difference,  fine  as  they  are, 


THE  CHOICE    OF   WOXDS.  33 

may  determine  the  most  significant  distinctions  in  the  thought; 
they  are  often  the  delicate  hinges  on  which  it  turns.  Perhaps 
there  is  no  way  in  which  a  thought  is  so  frequently  made  to  di- 
verge from  the  truth,  as  in  the  careless  or  unadvised  use  of  a 
nearly  synonymous  expression. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  following  are  instances  of  fine  discrimination  between 
nearly  synonymous  words.  From  Carlyle :  "  He  was  a  man  that  brought  him- 
self much  before  the  world;  confessed  that  he  eagerly  coveted  fame,  or  if  that 
were  not  possible,  notoriety ;  of  which  latter  as  he  gained  far  more  than 
seemed  his  due,  the  public  were  incited,  not  only  by  their  natural  love  of 
scandal,  but  by  a  special  ground  of  envy,  to  say  whatever  ill  of  him  could  be 
said."  —  From  James  Russell  Lowell :  "  The  Latin  has  given  us  most  of  our 
canorous  words,  only  they  must  not  be  confounded  with  mere  sonorous  ones, 
still  less  with  phrases  that,  instead  of  supplementing  the  sense,  encumber  it." 
"  In  verse  he  had  a  pomp  which,  excellent  in  itself,  became  pompousness  in 
his  imitators." 

Synonyms  employed  for  their  likeness  promote  flexibility  of  ex- 
pression ;  employed  for  their  unlikeness,  delicacy  and  precision. 

3.  Cultivate  the  habit  of  observing  the  derivation  and  history 
of  words. 

This  habit,  while  a  source  of  delight  in  itself,  is*  of  great  service 
in  promoting  the  assured  mastery  of  language.  A  word  whose 
etymology  is  known  defines  itself;  the  writer  feels  its  force  intui- 
tively, and  need  not  depend  on  a  dictionary.  A  word  that  has 
passed  through  changes  of  meaning  is  full  of  suggestiveness  by 
reason  of  its  history ;  but  while  it  is  more  significant  when  skill- 
fully used,  it  is  also  more  liable  to  misuse.  We  cannot  depend 
on  our  knowledge  of  etymology  alone.  The  very  changes  a  word 
has  suffered  have  added  to  its  meaning  new  and  subtle  aspects 
that  cannot  be  casually  discerned ;  they  must  be  studied. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  following  examples  will  illustrate  how  important  or  sig- 
nificant the  origin  and  history  of  a  word  may  become  in  the  writer's  usage. 

I.  Derivation.  Carlyle  thus  uses  the  derivation  of  the  word  King:  "  He  is 
called  Rex,  Regulator,  Roi :  our  own  name  is  still  better;  King,  Konning, 
which  means  Caw-ning,  Able-man.  .  .  .  The  finding  of  your  Ableman  and 


34  THE  CHOICE    OF   WORDS. 

getting  him  invested  with  the  symbols  of  ability,  with  dignity,  worship  (worth- 
ship),  royalty,  kinghood,  or  whatever  we  call  it,  so  that  he  may  actually  have 
room  to  guide  according  to  his  faculty  of  doing  it,  —  is  the  business,  well  or  ill 
accomplished,  of  all  social  procedure  whatsoever  in  this  world!" — Lowell 
thus  constructs  a  felicitous  definition  on  the  basis  of  a  derivation:  "A  super- 
,  stition,  as  its  name  imports,  is  something  that  has  been  left  to  stand  over,  like 
unfinished  business,  from  one  session  of  the  world's  ivitenagetnot  to  the  next." 

2.  History.  Gibbon  thus  deduces  the  history  of  a  people  from  the  history 
of  a  word :  "  The  unquestionable  evidence  of  language  attests  the  descent  of 
the  Bulgarians  from  the  original  stock  of  the  Sclavonian,  or  more  properly 
Slavonian,  race;  and  the  kindred  bands  of  Servians,  Bosnians,  Rascians, 
Croatians,  Walachians,  etc.,  followed  either  the  standard  or  the  example  of  the 
leading  tribe.  From  the  Euxine  to  the  Adriatic,  in  the  state  of  captives,  or 
subjects,  or  allies,  or  enemies,  of  the  Greek  empire,  they  overspread  the  land; 
and  the  national  appellation  of  the  SLAVES  has  been  degraded  by  chance  or 
malice  from  the  signification  of  glory  to  that  of  servitude." 

A  book  of  surpassing  interest  for  every  student,  as  revealing  some  of  the 
wonders  of  language,  is  Trench,  "  On  the  Study  of  Words." 

4.  Enlarge  your  vocabulary  by  diligent  study  of  usage  in  the  best 
writers. 

Dictionaries  and  books  of  synonyms  are  indispensable  in  their 
way,  but  they  cannot  impart  the  inner  life  and  delicacy  of  words. 
Words  are  the  vehicle  not  only  of  thought  but  of  sentiment  and 
emotion ;  but  this  they  can  be  only  as  interwoven  with  other 
words.  Thus  alone  can  they  get  beyond  the  merely  intellectual 
side  of  language,  and  from  its  defined  meanings  provide  for  "  its 
often  far  more  vital  undefined  associations."  No  fineness  of 
usage  can  be  acquired  from  the  dictionary  alone ;  the  grace  and 
power,  the  subtilities  and  flexibilities  of  words,  are  seen  fully  only 
as  they  are  fitted  together,  in  actual  literature,  by  the  masters  of 
expression. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "'My  dear  sir,'  exclaimed  General  Vayne,  with   a   certain 
rotund  emphasis,  '  I  am  happy  to  see  you ! '  "     We  feel  the  meaning  of  "  ro- 
,     tund"  here;   but  how  much  of  it  have  we  obtained  from  the  dictionary  defi- 
, '      nition  —  "  round,  circular,  spherical,  —  hence  complete,  entire  "  ? 


• 


In  the  following  passage  from  Tennyson,  consider  how  much  more  signifi- 


cant the  word  "  large  "  is,  than  any  dictionary  could  make  it :  — 


THE   CHOICE    OF  WORDS,  35 

"  But  when  he  spake  and  cheer'd  his  Table  Round 
With  large  divine  and  comfortable  words 
Beyond  my  tongue  to  tell  thee  —  I  beheld 
From  eye  to  eye  thro'  all  their  Order  flash 
A  momentary  likeness  of  the  King." 

II.   PRESENT  USE. 

Under  this  head  come  the  considerations  that  should  influence 
the  writer  on  account  of  the  age  of  words :  he  should  admit  only 
words  in  good  standard  present  usage.  Language  shows  its  life  as 
do  all  living  things ;  it  is  continually  sloughing  off  old  locutions 
for  which  there  is  no  further  use,  and  continually  assimilating  new 
expressions,  as  growing  thought  or  discovery  or  invention  demands 
them.  In  language  as  in  life,  also,  there  are  fashions  and  affecta- 
tions. There  come  every  year  into  current  speech  ephemeral 
terms,  colloquialisms,  slang,  flash  and  cant  expressions,  which  serve 
a  brief  purpose  and  then  die,  unless,  as  happens  in  rare  cases,  a 
real  need  exists  for  them.  These  cannot  find  place  in  standard 
literature ;  nor  can  any  newly  coined  word  be  accepted  until  it 
has  been  well  tried,  and  adopted  by  general  consent. 

The  following  four  rules  include  the  chief  cautions  to  be  ob- 
served regarding  present  use. 

5.  Beware  of  words  too  new  to  have  a  recognized  place  in  the 
language. 

The  word  beware,  in  its  old  sense  be  wary,  is  perhaps  the  best 
indication  of  the  writer's  proper  attitude  toward  such  new  terms. 
Such  words  may,  in  a  given  case,  subserve  a  real  need  and  be 
destined  to  become  standard ;  but  at  least,  watch  them.  "  Be  not 
the  first  by  whom  the  new  are  tried,"  is  Pope's  maxim.  If  they 
are  to  live,  there  is  abundant  time  to  use  them ;  if  not,  they  are 
better  left  alone. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  wretched  word  "enthuse"  seems  to  be  fighting  for  a 
place  in  standard  usage,  and  as  yet  no  one  can  tell  what  the  sequel  will  be;         .-, 
at  present  it  is  a  word  to  be  shunned.  —  A  few  years  ago  the  word  "telegram" 
was  new  and  much  talked  of;   but  it  supplied  a  need  in  the  language  and 


36  THE   CHOICE    OF   WORDS. 

soon  came  to  be  freely  used  by  all.  The  invention  of  the  telephone  brought 
with  it  the  suggestion  of  a  corresponding  word  "  telephem  ";  but  it  is  doubtful 
whether  this  will  ever  become  current. 

6.  Be  sure  of  ample  justification  before  coining  new  formations 
or  compounds. 

It  is  to  be  remembered  that,  though  language  is  a  sacred  heri- 
tage, to  be  cherished  and  guarded  with  all  solicitude,  yet  after  all 
it  was  made  for  man,  not  man  for  language.  There  is  therefore 
both  a  freedom  and  a  caution  to  be  observed  with  regard  to  new 
formations.  Because  language  is  a  living  organism,  and  thought 
is  living,  there  must  be  flexibility,  adaptation,  liberty ;  and  so,  not 
infrequently  a  juncture  of  thought  occurs  where  the  masterful 
writer  has  to  make  his  word,  from  materials  already  existing,  and 
where  such  a  new  coinage,  though  serving  only  the  present  occa- 
sion, may  be  precisely  the  most  effective  word  possible. 

EXAMPLES. — The  following,  used  by  Professor  Henry  Drummond,  is  a 
word  that  the  author  himself  would  perhaps  never  have  occasion  to  use  again, 
nor  would  it  ever  be  put  into  a  dictionary;  yet  it  fits  its  idea  as  no  other  word 
could  do:  "No  one  point  is  assailed.  It  is  the  whole  system  which  when 
compared  with  the  other  and  weighed  in  its  balance  is  found  wanting.  An 
eye  which  has  looked  at  the  first  cannot  look  upon  this.  To  do  that,  and  rest 
in  the  contemplation,  it  has  first  to  uncentury  itself." 

The  following,  from  Howells,  gives  a  shade  of  meaning  that  no  existing 
word  was  adequate  to  express :  "  But  for  the  time  being  Penelope  was  as 
nearly  crazed  as  might  be  by  the  complications  of  her  position,  and  received 
her  visitors  with  a  piteous  distraction  which  could  not  fail  of  touching  Brom- 
field  Corey's  Italian  sympatheticism" 

On  the  other  hand,  such  license  of  coinage  is  very  precarious. 
The  passion  for  new  forms  may  become  a  mannerism ;  and  the 
writer,  supposing  that  his  thought  is  too  original  for  existing  forms, 
may  easily  develop  a  fondness  for  vagaries  in  language  for  the  sake 
of  smartness  and  pungency.  Unless,  then,  the  need  of  a  new  form 
is  imperative,  and  the  writer  knows  well  his  own  power  and  the 
poverty  of  the  present  vocabulary,  he  will  do  better  to  hold  the 
purity  of  his  mother-tongue  sacred  against  innovations. 


THE    CHOICE    OF  WORDS.  37 

EXAMPLES. The  following  may  stand  as  illustrations  of  over-hasty  coin- 
age :  From  W.  Clark  Russell :  "  This,  coupled  with  the  fast-spreading  gloom, 
and  the  wild  tumblefication,  and  the  fierce  cracking  of  napping  noises,  fright- 
ened her."  —From  Mrs.  Whitney  :  "The  summer  joy  districted  from  the  year, 
like  a  glowing  jewel,  by  its  very  setting  between  the  bleaker  changes."  — The 
following,  from  a  review  article,  exemplifies  a  somewhat  pedantic  custom  of 
coining  adjectives:  "There  is  no  end  to  this  chapter  of  authorial  misfor- 
tune." 

To  new  formations  and  compounds  made  in  a  humorous  spirit 
more  liberty  must  be  allowed ;  though  it  may  be  remarked  that 
such  devices  are  the  first  to  lose  flavor  and  sound  cheap  and  arti- 
ficial. It  is  only  the  abounding  freedom  of  a  conversational  style 
that  can  justify  them. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  following,  from  Dickens,  will  serve  to  illustrate  humor- 
ous formations :  "  Her  spirits  rose  considerably,  on  beholding  these  goodly 
preparations,  and  from  the  nothingness  of  good  works,  she  passed  to  the  some- 
thingness  of  ham  and  toast  with  great  cheerfulness."  —  "  Amidst  the  general 
hum  of  mirth  and  conversation  that  ensued,  there  was  a  little  man  with  a  puffy 
say-nothing-to-me-or-Fll-contradict-you  sort  of  countenance,  who  remained 
very  quiet." 

7.  Be  suspicious  regarding  current  newspaper  and  colloquial 
terms. 

In  the  discussion  of  public  and  political  questions,  as  also  in  the 
shifting  phases  of  the  people's  life,  expressions  are  frequently  used 
for  which  there  is  only  transient  occasion ;  and  for  a  while  they 
may  enter  every  one's  speech,  or  be  bandied  about  by  the  news- 
papers, and  then  be  cast  aside  and  forgotten.  Some  of  these  may 
be  mere  slang ;  others,  at  least  while  they  are  in  the  vogue,  may 
seem  spirited,  and  felicitous  ;  and  others  again  may  involve  curious 
etymological  analogies  and  crudenesses.  The  writer's  uniyersal 
caution  regarding  such  ephemeral  terms  is,  be  suspicious ;  do  not 
fall  into  the  use  of  them  unadvisedly. 

EXAMPLES.  — The  following  newspaper  terms  may,  some  of  them,  be  pass- 
ing into  standard  usage,  but  they  will  at  least  illustrate  the  freedom  of  journal- 
ism ;  "  Last  night  the  Third  National  Bank  was  burglarized,"  "  Mr,  Blank, 


38  THE    CHOICE    OF  WORDS. 

the  well-known  educationalist,  suicided  yesterday  morning."  "The  man  has 
been  extradited."  "  All  attempts  at  bulldozing  failed."  "  Last  week  a  party 
of  resurrectionists  were  operating  in  the  Old  North  burying-ground." 

The  following  colloquialisms  are  from  De  Quincey,  who  was  sometimes 
careless :  "  Poor  Aroar  cannot  live,  and  cannot  die  —  so  that  he  is  in  an 
almighty  fix."  "  Really  Aroar  is  too  Tom-Painish,  and  seems  up  to  a  little 
treason."  "  But  all  this  we  men  of  sense  know  to  be  gammon." 

A  word  may  here  be  said  to  students,  from  the  writer's  point  of 
view,  about  current  slang.  That  it  is  spirited,  spicy,  extremely 
convenient,  is  conceded.  That  the  use  of  it  is  reprehensible  as  a 
sin  against  the  purity  of  the  language,  the  user  of  it  himself  is  not 
slow  to  acknowledge.  But  the  most  deplorable  feature  of  slang, 
not  often  realized,  is  that,  being  used  on  every  admissible  occasion, 
and  so  not  as  a  vehicle  of  definite  thought  but  as  a  substitute  for 
it,  such  unconsidered  language  causes  an  appalling  poverty  of 
Standing  for  so  many  things,  it  means  nothing  ;  while 
it  occupies  the  place  of  what  should  be  definite  and  significant. 
The  student  should  consider  whether  he  can  afford,  out  of  mere 
fun  or  mental  indolence,  so  to  starve  his  resources. 

8.  Do  not,  out  of  mere  affectation,  indulge  a  fancy  for  quaint  or 
archaic  terms. 

There  is  little  tendency  to  use  words  too  old  to  be  current,  or 
that  have  a  quaint  effect,  except  from  affectation ;  but  from  this 
cause,  in  some  stages  of  the  writer's  culture,  the  tendency  is 
considerable. 

NOTE.  —  The  affectation  of  old  terms  is  perhaps  most  noticeable  now-a-days 
in  the  case  of  old  connectives  and  adverbs;  as,  perchance,  peradvcnture,  fur- 
thermore, eke,  verily,  in  sooth,  haply.  Owing  to  the  influence  of  Biblical  dic- 
tion, religious  literature  often  takes  an  archaic  tinge,  which  with  lack  of  taste 
may  easily  degenerate  into  cant.  The  "  holy  tone "  is  not  much  respected 
now,  in  literature  that  seeks  power. 

Sometimes  also  such  words  as  hight, yclept,  swain,  -wight,  quoth,  y*  (for  the), 
y'  (for  that),  are  used  for  smartness  or  humorous  effect.  Charles  Lamb  was 
much  given  to  such  quaintnesses,  partly  from  his  peculiar  turn  of  humor, 
partly  from  the  influence  of  old  writers. 


THE  CHOICE   OF  WORDS.  39 

There  is  at  present  a  strong  effort  on-the  part  of  scholarly  authors 
to  revive  some  of  the  hearty  old  Saxon  expressions  that  have  passed 
out  of  current  use ;  and  this  is  commendable,  for  many  of  these 
terms  are  too  good  to  die.  Study  of  the  early  English  from  an 
earnest  desire  to  enlarge  and  diversify  the  resources  of  expression 
is  certainly  very  valuable.  But  fondness  for  old  words  may  also 
be,  like  fondness  for  old  china,  a  fashion,  a  craze ;  and  when 
writers  adopt  them  as  a  mere  affectation,  their  style  becomes 
artificial  and  fanciful,  and  loses  its  earnestness  and  power. 

III.     INTELLIGIBLE   USE. 

The  adaptation  of  the  word  to  the  idea,  which  calls  for  accurate 
use,  has  its  limits.  The  word  must  also  be  adapted  to  the  reader ; 
and  in  general  the  reader  must  be  supposed  not  a  learned  man, 
but  a  man  of  average  information  and  intelligence.  So  the  only 
safe  standard  for  general  literature,  as  regards  the  kind  of  words 
chosen,  is  ordinary  popular  usage. 

9.  Do  not  employ  in  general  literature  words  peculiar  to  some 
limited  section  of  the  country. 

Under  such  words  are  included  dialectic  peculiarities  and 
provincialisms. 

These  may  of  course  be  used  with  intent,  as  in  a  dialect  tale,  to 
illustrate  the  manner  of  speaking  in  some  particular  section,  or  to 
preserve  the  "  local  coloring  "  ;  but  to  use  them  through  ignorance 
or  carelessness,  in  a  production  intended  for  the  general  public,  is 
to  put  too  great  a  burden  of  interpretation  on  the  reader. 
Provincialisms  outside  of  their  own  district  have  the  effect  of 
slang. 

EXAMPLES  OF  PROVINCIALISMS.  —  The  following  examples  are  taken  from 
Hunt's  "  Principles  of  Written  Discourse  " :  "  He  is  very  clever"  (in  the  sense 
of  good-natured)  ;  "  he  took  him  to  do" ;  "  he/avors  (resembles)  his  father  "; 
" he  is  a  likely  child ";  "I  reckon  you  will ";  "I  will  take  it  kind  of  you"; 
"  I  set  no  store  by  it  "  (Compare,  however,  as  to  this  last  citation,  the  following 
from  Principal  Shairp:  "  In  his  estimate  of  men  he  (Wordsworth)  set  no  store 


40  THE  CHOICE   OF  WORDS. 

by  rank  or  station,  little  by  those  '  formalities '  which  have  been  misnamed 
education").  It  may  here  be  remarked  that,  owing  to  the  increased  facility 
of  communication  between  one  part  of  the  country  and  another,  many  words 
once  provincial  are  passing  into  good  usage,  while  others  are  becoming  recog- 
nized as  vulgarisms. 

10.  Do  not  use  technical  terms  where  they  are  not  likely  to  be 
understood. 

Technical  terms  are  terms  peculiar  to  some  particular  depart- 
ment of  science  or  thought  or  industry ;  indispensable  therefore  in 
their  own  sphere,  but  for  the  most  part  unknown  outside. 

In  writings  intended  only  for  a  particular  class  of  readers,  of 
course  the  terms  peculiar  to  that  class  cannot  well  be  dispensed 
with ;  they  are  both  the  directest  and  the  most  accurate  that  can 
be  employed.  To  discard  them  in  general  literature,  in  the  case 
of  a  subject  to  which  they  belong,  is  indeed  a  makeshift ;  but  none 
the  less  it  is  a  necessity.  Even  in  the  case  of  popularizing  a 
science,  the  writer  should  work  for  the  smallest  number  of  techni- 
cal terms  possible,  and  should  give  much  care  to  explaining  strange 
words. 

EXAMPLE  OF  SCIENTIFIC  TERMINOLOGY.  —  The  following,  taken  from  Car- 
penter's "  Comparative  Physiology,"  will  show  how  little  adapted  is  technical 
diction  to  general  readers.  (The  author's  italics  are  omitted.) 

"The  same  formation  contains  remains  of  the  Rhyncosaurus,  which,  while 
essentially  Saurian  in  its  general  structure,  had  the  horny  mandibles,  and 
probably  many  other  characters,  of  the  Chelonia.  From  the  same  or  a  some- 
what anterior  epoch,  we  have  the  remains  of  the  Dicynodon ;  which  seems, 
along  with  Chelonian,  Crocodilian,  and  Saurian  characters,  to  have  possessed 
the  peculiarly  Mammalian  feature  of  a  pair  of  tusks  growing  from  persistent 
pulps.  So,  again,  the  Ichthyosaurus,  whilst  essentially  Saurian  in  its  osteology, 
had  not  merely  the  bi-concave  vertebrae  of  a  Fish,  but  paddles  of  a  Cetacean 
type,  and  a  pecular  sterno-acromial  apparatus  resembling  that  of  the  Ornitho- 
rhyncus." 

A  striking  use  of  technical  or  semi-technical  terms  in  general 
literature  is  found  in  the  writings  of  such  men  as  Emerson  and 
Holmes.  Employed  to  illustrate  ideas  in  other  departments  of 
thought,  these  terms  have  the  force  of  a  figure  of  speech,  and  are 


THE  CHOICE   OF   WORDS.  .  41 

often  very  suggestive.  The  use  of  them  thus  is  a  compliment  to 
the  increasing  culture  of  people  in  general,  recognizing  as  it  does 
that  learned  and  scientific  ideas  are  becoming  more  widely  known  ; 
but,  of  course,  to  use  them  with  true  effect,  the  author  needs  to  be 
well  aware  of  his  liberties  and  limits,  in  order  to  choose  only  such 
terms  as  can  be  counted  on  to  be  understood  and  enjoyed. 

EXAMPLES. —  In  the  following  extracts  the  italicized  words  and  turns  of 
expression  have  their  significance  in  the  fact  that  they  are  the  peculiar  termi- 
nology of  some  science  or  system  of  ideas. 

From  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson:  "The  divine  circulations  never  rest  nor 
linger.  Nature  is  the  incarnation  of  a  thought,  and  turns  to  a  thought  again, 
as  ice  becomes  water  and  gas.  The  world  is  mind  precipitated,  and  the  vola- 
tile essence  is  forever  escaping  again  into  the  state  of  free  thought.  Hence  the 
virtue  and  pungency  of  the  influence  on  the  mind,  of  natural  objects,  whether 
inorganic  or  organized.  Man  imprisoned,  man  crystallized,  man  vegetative, 
speaks  to  man  impersonated." 

From  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes:  "All  uttered  thought,  my  friend,  the  Pro- 
fessor, says,  is  of  the  nature  of  an  excretion.  Its  materials  have  been  taken 
in,  and  have  acted  upon  the  system,  and  been  reacted  on  by  it;  it  has  circulated 
and  done  its  office  in  one  mind  before  it  is  given  out  for  the  benefit  of  others. 
It  may  be  milk  or  venom  to  other  minds;  but,  in  either  case,  it  is  something 
which  the  producer  has  had  the  use  of  and  can  part  with.  A  man  instinct- 
ively tries  to  get  rid  of  his  thought  in  conversation  or  in  print  so  soon  as  it  is 
matured;  but  it  is  hard  to  get  at  it  as  it  lies  imbedded,  a  mere  potentiality, 
the  germ  of  a  germ,  in  his  intellect." 

ii.  Do  not  use  an  unnaturalized  foreign  word  unless  you  are 
sure  it  expresses  an  idea  for  which  there  is  no  fitting  term  in  Eng- 
lish. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "A  keen  observer  might  have  seen  about  him  some  signs  of 
^.jeunesse  orageuse,  but  his  manner  was  frank  and  pleasing."  "  Every  one 
was  on  the  qui  vive."  "  He  enjoyed  his  otium  cum  dignitate." 

The  most  reprehensible  affectation,  which  needs  only  a  mention, 
is  to  interlard  one's  writing  with  foreign  words  and  phrases  just  to 
show  off  one's  familiarity  with  the  languages  thus  borrowed  from. 
Such  affectation  is  simply  vulgarity.  Scarcely  less  vulgar  it  is,  to 
parade  well-worn  classical  quotations  with  the  air  of  scholarliness, 
as  if  they  represented  extensive  research  on  the  part  of  the  writer. 


42  THE    CHOICE    OF  tVORDS. 

A  close  student  of  a  foreign  language,  however,  who  knows  its 
literature  and  can  feel  its  spirit,  often  finds  ideas  more  closely  fitted 
jvith  terms  in  that  language  than  in  his  own.  The  different  medium 
of  expression  seems  to  develop  —  or  to  accompany  —  a  different 
range  of  thought.  The  temptation  to  borrow,  therefore,  for  the 
sake  of  exactness,  is  often  great,  and  the  occasion  real ;  but  let 
the  writer  study  his  own  language  more  deeply,  and  he  will  find 
that  most  of  his  ideas  may  find  somewhere  in  English  an  approxi- 
mately close  expression.  Besides,  if  his  skill  can  transfer  a  new 
and  valuable  meaning  to,  his  own  vernacular,  he  is  enriching  its 
stores  of  thought,  both  for  himself  and  for  others. 

Words  used  in  travel,  or  citations  of  foreign  literary  expressions, 
may  sometimes  be  fittingJy  used  in  works  obviously  intended  for 
readers  to  whom  such  terms  will  be  familiar  and  suggestive.  The 
writer  thus  pays  a  compliment  to  the  culture  of  his  reader.  Mr. 
Lowell  may  be  mentioned  as  one  who  carries  this  usage  to  the 
verge,  perhaps  sometimes  a  little  beyond  the  verge,  of  admissibility. 

NOTE.  —  A  specimen  paragraph  may  be  cited  from  Lowell's  "  Fireside 
Travels":  "You  are  in  Rome,  of  course;  the  sbirro  said  so,  the  doganiere 
bowed  it,  and  the  postilion  swore  it;  but  it  is  a  Rome  of  modern  houses, 
muddy  streets,  dingy  caffis,  cigar-smokers,  and  French  soldiers,  the  manifest 
junior  of  Florence.  And  yet  full  of  anachronisms,  for  in  a  little  while  you 
pass  the  column  of  Antoninus,  find  the  Dogaiia  in  an  ancient  temple  whose 
furrowed  pillars  show  through  the  recent  plaster,  and  feel  as  if  you  saw  the 
statue  of  Minerva  in  a  Paris  bonnet.  You  are  driven  to  a  hotel  where  all  the 
barbarian  languages  are  spoken  in  one  wild  conglomerate  by  the  Commission- 
aire, have  your  dinner  wholly  in  French,  and  wake  the  next  morning  dream- 
ing of  the  Tenth  Legion,  to  see  a  regiment  of  Chasseurs  de  Vincennes  trotting 
by." 

IV.     SCHOLARLY   USE. 
Jf.*Jt  V*"" 

Above  the  requirements  of  accuracy,  age,  and  plainness,  there  is 
a  use  of  words  which  evinces  the  writer's  culture  :  his  intimate  and 
delicate  knowledge  of  his  resources,  his  disciplined  and  educated 
taste,  and  his  independent  choice  of  what  he  intelligently  recognizes 
as  best.  Such  may  be  called  scholarly  use,  and  may  be  observed 
in  the  following  four  rules. 


THE   CHOICE   OF  WORDS.  43 

12.  Seek  to  use  both  Saxon  and  Classical  derivatives  for  what  they 
are  worth,  and  be  not  anxious  to  discard  either. 

From  a  comparison  of  passages  containing  different  proportions 
of  words  derived  from  the  two  main  sources  of  our  language,  the 
Saxon  and  the  Classical,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  words  of  different 
origin  suit  themselves  naturally  to  different  kinds  of  thought,  and 
produce  dissimilar  effects  in  the  tone  and  movement  of  the  pas- 
sage. 

NOTE.  —  This  fact  may  be  illustrated  by  comparing  a  passage  whose  words 
are  predominantly  Saxon  with  one  that  freely  uses  words  of  Classical  deriva- 
tion. 

1.  In  the  first,  from  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress,  the  almost  pure  Saxon 
character  is  like  the  natural,  unstudied,  conversational  language  of  common 
intercourse  :  — 

"Now  they  had  not  gone  far,  but  a  great  mist  and  a  darkness  fell  upon 
them  all,  so  that  they  could  scarce  for  a  great  while  see  the  one  the  other. 
Wherefore  they  were  forced  for  some  time  to  feel  for  one  another  by  words, 
for  they  walked  not  by  sight.  But  any  one  must  think  that  here  was  but  sorry 
going  for  the  best  of  them  all,  but  how  much  worse  for  the  women  and  chil- 
dren, who  both  of  feet  and  heart  were  but  tender.  Yet  so  it  was,  that  through 
the  encouraging  words  of  him  that  led  in  the  front,  and  of  him  that  brought 
them  up  behind,  they  made  a  pretty  good  shift  to  wag  along.  The  way  also 
was  here  very  wearisome  through  dirt  and  slabbiness.  Nor  was  there  on  all 
this  ground  so  much  as  one  inn  or  victualling-house,  therein  to  refresh  the 
feebler  sort.  Here  therefore  was  grunting  and  puffing  and  sighing.  While  one 
tumbleth  over  a  bush,  another  sticks  fast  in  the  dirt;  and  the  children,  some 
of  them,  lost  their  shoes  in  the  mire.  While  one  cries  out,  I  am  down;  and 
another,  Ho,  where  are  you?  and  a  third,  The  bushes  have  got  such  fast  hold 
on  me,  I  think  I  cannot  get  away  from  them." 

2.  In  the  second,  from  De  Quincey,  while  the  body  of  the  passage  must  still 
be  Saxon,  words  of  Latin  and  Greek  origin  are  freely  chosen  for  the  sake  of 
precision,  and  these  give  to  the  style,  whether  designedly  or  not,  a  certain 
formal  and  learned  air  :  — 

"Every  process  in  Nature  unfolds  itself  through  a  succession  of  phenomena. 
Now,  if  it  be  granted  of  the  artist  generally,  that  of  all  this  moving  series  he 
can  arrest  as  it  were  but  so  much  as  fills  one  instant  of  time,  and  with  regard 
to  the  painter  in  particular,  that  even  this  insulated  moment  he  can  exhibit 
only  under  one  single  aspect  or  phasis,  —  it  then  becomes  evident  that,  in  the 
selection  of  this  single  instant  and  of  this  single  aspect,  too  much  care  cannot 


44  THE   CHOICE  OF  WORDS. 

be  taken  that  each  shall  be  in  the  highest  possible  degree  pregnant  in  its  mean- 
ing;  that  is,  shall  yield  the  utmost  range  to  the  activities  of  the  imagination." 

What  these  two  classes  of  words  are  good  for,  respectively,  is 
indicated  by  their  relative  places  in  the  history  of  the  language. 
Classical  derivatives  are  just  as  indispensable  in  their  way  as  Saxon.1 
Coming  as  they  did  later  into  the  language,  when  its  framework 
was  already  constructed,  these  words  indicate  that  a  want  existed 
which  the  Saxon  could  not  supply,  a  want  created  by  advancing 
and  refining  thought.  Roughly  speaking,  then,  the  uses  of  the  two 
kinds  of  derivatives  may  be  given  as  follows  :  — 

1.  Saxon  derivatives  constitute  the  foundation  of  the  language. 
Being  the  earliest  words,  they  stand  for  the  primitive  ideas  :  they 
are  the  words  of  the  family  and  the  home  and  the  everyday  rela- 
tions of  life.     They  are  therefore  the  natural  terms  for  common 
intercourse,  for  simple  and  direct  emotions,  for  strong  and  hearty 
sentiments.     Saxon  is  especially  the  language  of  strength  ;  and  its 
short  words,  and  sturdy  sounds  join  well  with  its  homely  meanings 
to  give  it  impress  and  cogency. 

2.  Derivatives  from  the  Latin  and  Greek  express  the  subtler  dis- 
tinctions in  the  thought;   they  enable  the  writer  to  come  more 
closely  to  the  exact  expression  of  his  idea.     They  constitute  the 
more  learned  element  of  the  language.     Being  also  in  general 
longer  and  more  sonorous,  they  are  often  better  adapted  to  make 
volume  of  sound  correspond  to  volume  of  sense ;  and  thus  they 
frequently  serve  well  the  higher  requirements  of  poetry  and  oratory. 

NOTE.  —  That  classical  derivatives  are  used  in  the  interests  of  more  learned, 
particular,  precise  thought  is  evident  from  the  above  quotation  from  De  Quin- 
cey;  —  consider,  for  instance,  the  words  "succession,"  "  phenomena,"  "arrest," 
"  insulated,"  "  aspect,"  "  phasis,"  "  activities,"  "  imagination."  In  the  follow- 
ing, from  Macaulay,  consider  how  much  distinction  is  given  to  the  idea  by  the 
sonorous  Latin  words:  "The  whole  book,  and  every  component  part  of  it,  is 

1 "  Especially  do  not  indulge  any  fantastic  preference  for  either  Latin  or  Anglo- 
Saxon,  the  two  great  wings  on  which  our  magnificent  English  soars  and  sings  ;  we 
can  spare  neither.  The  combination  gives  us  an  affluence  of  synonymcs  and  a  deli- 
cacy of  discrimination  such  as  no  unmixed  idiom  can  show."  —  Higginson,"  Atlan- 
tic Essays,"  p.  81. 


THE  CHOICE   OF  WORDS.  45 

on  a  gigantic  scale.  .  .  .  We  cannot  sum  up  the  merits  of  the  stupendous  mass 
of  paper  which  lies  before  us  better  than  by  saying  that  it  consists  of  about  two 
thousand  closely  printed  quarto  pages,  that  it  occupies  fifteen  hundred  inches 
cubic  measure,  and  that  it  weighs  sixty  pounds  avoirdupois."  In  "  gigantic 
scale  "  and  "  stupendous  mass,"  the  volume  of  the  word  better  expresses  the 
spirit  of  the  sense  than  would  "  great  scale,"  "  huge  mass."  For  copious 
examples  in  illustration  of  the  two  great  elements  of  our  language,  see  Bain, 
"  Composition  Grammar,"  pp.  205-229. 

If  the  requirements  of  precision  and  fineness  are  not  especially 
present,  it  is  better  to  keep  as  near  as  possible  to  the  Saxon  basis 
of  the  language,  because  that  is  the  speech  of  common  people, 
and  seems  less  studied.  Besides,  if  one's  style  is  predominantly 
Saxon,  the  more  learned  derivatives  occasionally  used  for  a  partic- 
ular purpose  have  a  greater  effect,  being  more  noticeable. 

13.   Beware  of  the  false  garnish  of  "  fine  writing." 

By  "fine  writing"  is  meant  the  use  of  pretentious  terms  for 
trivial  ideas,  or  the  attempt  by  high-sounding  language  to  dress  up 
something  that  needs  only  commonplace  expression.  Under  the 
same  head  may  be  reckoned  also  the  use  of  scraps  of  trite  quota- 
tion, well-worn  poetic  locutions,  and  shallow  attempts  at  facetious- 
ness.  All  such  devices  are  simply  a  melancholy  revelation  of  the 
writer's  lack  of  taste ;  while  also  they  sin  against  the  accuracy  and 
dignity  of  the  language. 

ILLUSTRATION.  —  The  tendency  in  imperfectly  or  falsely  educated  people  to 
say  common  things  in  fine  language  may  be  exemplified  by  the  following,  from 
Dickens :  — 

"  '  Willet,'  said  Solomon  Daisy,  who  had  exhibited  some  impatience  at  the 
intrusion  of  so  unworthy  a  subject  on  their  more  interesting  theme,  '  when 
Mr.  Chester  came  this  morning,  did  he  order  the  large  room?' 

'He  signified^  sir,'  said  John,  'that  he  wanted  a  large  apartment.  Yes. 
Certainly.' " 

In  the  following  Dickens  makes  one  of  his  characters  say  a  commonplace 
thing  in  a  very  pretentious  way  :  — 

"  '  Under  the  impression,'  said  Mr.  Micawber,  '  that  your  peregrinations  in 
this  metropolis  have  not  as  yet  been  extensive,  and  that  you  might  have  some 
difficulty  in  penetrating  the  arcana  of  the  Modern  Babylon  in  the  direction  of 


46  THE   CHOICE   OF  WORDS. 

the  City  Road  —  in  short,'  said  Mr.  Micawber,  in  another  burst  of  confidence, 
'  that  you  might  lose  yourself —  I  shall  be  happy  to  call  this  evening,  and 
instal  you  in  the  knowledge  of  the  nearest  way.' " 

"  Fine  writing  "  is  to  be  distinguished  from  the  intentional  use 
of  exaggerated  terms  for  humorous  effect.  One  means  of  express- 
ing humor  is  by  the  use  of  words  a  little  more  pretentious  than  the 
occasion  demands.  Of  this  kind  of  writing  it  may  be  said  that 
only  a  cultured  taste  can  master  it,  as  also  only  a  cultured  taste 
can  judge  of  its  limits  and  justification ;  hence  it  is  precarious  for 

Ian  unpracticed  hand. 

EXAMPLE.  —  The  following  is  from  Hawthorne,  who  excelled  in  this  felicity 
of  language  :  — 

"The  child,  staring  with  round  eyes  at  this  instance  of  liberality,  wholly  un- 
precedented in  his  large  experience  of  cent-shops,  took  the  man  of  ginger- 
bread, and  quitted  the  premises.  No  sooner  had  he  reached  the  sidewalk 
(little  cannibal  that  he  was !)  than  Jim  Crow's  head  was  in  his  mouth.  As 
he  had  not  been  careful  to  shut  the  door,  Hepzibah  was  at  the  pains  of  clos- 
ing it  after  him,  with  a  pettish  ejaculation  or  two  about  the  troublesomeness  of 
young  people,  and  particularly  of  small  boys.  She  had  just  placed  another 
representative  of  the  renowned  Jim  Crow  at  the  window,  when  again  the 
shop-bell  tinkled  clamorously,  and  again  the  door  being  thrust  open,  with  its 
characteristic  jerk  and  jar,  disclosed  the  same  sturdy  little  urchin  who,  pre- 
cisely two  minutes  ago,  had  made  his  exit.  The  crumbs  and  discoloration  of 
the  cannibal  feast,  as  yet  hardly  consummated,  were  exceedingly  visible  about 
his  mouth." 

Was  ever  such  a  homely  subject  so  exquisitely  described  before? 

14.  Cherish  wisely  the  strong  and  homely  idioms  of  the  lan- 
guage. 

In  certain  stages  of  culture  the  young  writer  is  apt  to  regard 
everything  that  presents  any  ruggedness  of  diction,  or  that  is  not 
transparently  conformed  .o  grammatical  rules,  as  a  blemish ;  and 
he  is  tempted  to  smooth  everything  down  into  propriety  and  prim- 
ness. But  in  so  doing  he  may  easily  throw  away  some  of  the 
strongest  and  most  characteristic  features  of  the  language.  The 
idioms  of  English,  those  turns  of  expression  which  have  grown  up 
with  the  people  and  are  untranslatable,  are  to  be  valued.  Many 


THE    CHOICE    OF  WORDS.  47 

idioms  express  ideas  as  nothing  else  could  do ;  and  certainly  they 
are  near  to  the  everyday  basis  of  the  language,  not  manufactured 
expressions,  but  growths  of  the  soil.  Idioms  are  therefore  to  be 
studied  and  cherished,  not  indiscriminately  but  wisely,  as  preserv- 
ing the  strength  and  character  of  the  mother-tongue.  "Every 
good  writer,"  says  Landor,  "  has  much  idiom ;  it  is  the  life  and 
spirit  of  language ;  and  none  such  ever  entertained  a  fear  or  ap- 
prehension that  strength  and  sublimity  were  to  be  lowered  and 
weakened  by  it." 

EXAMPLES  OF  IDIOM.  —  Some  of  the  commonest  things  in  our  language       */ 
are  idiomatic,  and  seem  homely  and  rude  sometimes  to  a  taste  only  partly 
formed.     There  is  apt  to  be  a  stage,  for  instance,  when  the  tendency  is  to          . 
change  "  get  used  "  to  "  become  accustomed,"  because  the  latter  parses  better.        ,  . 
"  A  man  instinctively  tries  to  get  rid  of  his  thought  in  conversation  or  print  so         /  / 
soon  as  it  is  matured";   here  "get  rid  of"  is  much  better  than  "give  publicity 
to."     So  also  such  an  expression  as  "  long-tried  friend  of  mine,"  though  a 
double  possessive,  and  strictly  speaking  a  solecism,  is  idiomatic  and  admissible.         '•__ 
"A  great  deal"  is  as  good  as  "very  much." 

An  idiomatic  expression  will  not  easily  bear  to  be  divided ;  it  must  move 
together  if  it  move  at  all;  e.g.  "The  children  point  to  him  as  the  old  miser, 
out  of  whose  way  it  is  best  to  keep,  since  there  is  no  telling  how  he  may  show 
his  spite  if  he  is  angered."  Here  "  keep  "  alone  is  different  in  meaning  from 
"keep"  with  "out";' so  the  idiom  should  be  kept  together. 

15.  Use  no  expression  thoughtlessly,  or  merely  because  it  is 
current,  but  from  your  own  independent  recognition  of  its  fit- 
ness. 

This  is  a  general  consideration,  a  plea  for  self-reliance  and  inde- 
pendence, which  is  meant  to  cover  all  the  preceding  rules.  Many 
current  expressions  there  are  which,  while  they  may  indeed  be 
accurate  enough  and  in  good  use,  are  employed  largely  as  mere 
counters,  substitutes  for  thought,  just  bl '-cause  they  are  near  at 
hand,  and  obviate  the  need  of  looking  up  some  expression  more 
fitting.  Such  thoughtless  use  in  the  case  of  slang  has  already  been 
spoken  of;  here  it  is  to  be  noted  further  that  even  a  good  expres- 
sion may  lose  its  power  by  becoming  worn ;  and  if  it  represents 
no  thought  on  the  writer's  part,  it  will  not  be  strong  to  awaken 

V  6M.  •  R-  - 


48  POETIC  DICTION. 

thought  in  the  reader.  Such  unthinking  use  of  trite  expressions 
Is  called  cant.  Every  department  of  thought  has  its  cant  terms 
and  phraseology.  These  well-worn  locutions  may  become  a  veri- 
table tyranny  to  the  writer ;  for  this  reason  they  often  need  to  be 
broken  up  and  replaced  by  a  fresher,  even  if  not  a  better  expres- 
sion. The  writer  should  let  his  words  show  marks  of  independent 
thinking,  and  tolerate  nothing  that  has  not  been  fused  anew  in  the 
fire  of  his  own  mind.  His  chosen  diction  may  then  be  old,  or 
new ;  but  at  least  it  is  his  own. 

ILLUSTRATION.  —  It  is  not  always  necessary  to  call  the  pulpit  "the  sacred 
desk";  nor  need  a  man  who  knows  how  to  do  so  simple  a  thing  as^tf,  always 
have  to  "  wend  his  way."  A  portrait  was  once  called  a  "  counterfeit  present- 
ment " :  good  as  the  expression  was,  it  awakens  rio-«K>re  freshness  of  delight 
when  employed  now. 

Boswell  once  asked  Dr.  Johnson,  of  certain  poems  just  published,  "  Is  there 
not  imagination  in  them,  Sir?"  "Why,  Sir,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "there  is 
in  them  what  was  imagination,  but  it  is  no  more  imagination  in  him,  than 
sound  is  sound  in  the  echo.  And  his  diction  too  is  not  his  own.  We  have 
long  ago  seen  "while-robed  innocence,  and  flower-bespangled  meads." 

The  following  seems  to  be  an  intentional  breaking-up  of  the  trite  locution 
"  without  let  or  hindrance,"  and  the  good  effect  is  easily  felt :  "  No  one  will 
question  that  the  whole  nature  of  the  holiest  being  tends  to  what  is  holy  with- 
out let,  struggle,  or  strife  —  it  would  be  impiety  to  doubt  it." 


SECTION  SECOND. 

THE    CHARACTERISTICS   OF   POETIC   DICTION. 

ALTHOUGH  poetry  represents  ideally  one  of  the  main  directions 
that  literature  takes,  in  its  endeavor  to  adapt  itself  to  men,  the 
discussion  of  it  falls  only  partly  within  the  scope  of  this  book. 
Metre  and  rhyme,  the  more  mechanical  features  of  poetry,  are 
here  left  unconsidered,  because  they  are  only  indirectly  related  to 
that  problem  of  practical  adaptation  which  is  the  central  motive 
of  rhetoric, 


POETIC  DICTION.  .         49 

Some  discussion  of  the  diction  of  poetry  is  necessary,  however, 
both  in  itself  considered,  and  on  account  of  its  relation  to  the 
diction  of  prose.  The  characteristics  of  the  latter  may  be  seen 
more  clearly  in  the  light  of  something  that  furnishes  a  contrast,  or 
at  least  a  marked  distinction.'  Further,  and  what  is  of  more  impor- 
tance, some  types  of  prose  style  approach,  in  varying  degrees,  to 
poetry ;  they  spontaneously  take  on  poetic  forms,  more  or  less 
marked,  according  to  the  mood  in  which  they  are  written.  It  is 
essential  therefore  to  know  the  verbal  forms  distinctive  of  poetic 
discourse. 

When  we  speak  of  poetic  diction,  however,  it  is  not  to  be  under- 
stood that  poetry  must  take  on  the  characteristics  here  named, 
in  order  to  be  poetry.  Many  true  poems  are  written  with  but  few 
traces  of  these  peculiarities ;  witness,  for  example,  Tennyson's 
idyl,  "  Dora,"  a  paragraph  of  which  may  here  be  quoted,  to  show 
how  simple  and  plain  poetic  language  may  be. 

"  And  Dora  took  the  child,  and  went  her  way 
Across  the  wheat,  and  sat  upon  a  mound 
That  was  unsown,  where  many  poppies  grew. 
Far  off  the  farmer  came  into  the  field 
And  spied  her  not;   for  none  of  all  his  men 
Dare  tell  him  Dora  waited  with  the  child; 
And  Dora  would  have  risen  and  gone  to  him, 
But  her  heart  fail'd  her;   and  the  reapers  reap'd, 
And  the  sun  fell,  and  all  the  land  was  dark." 

Here  the  simple  tale  is  poetic  in  itself,  and  requires  no  special 
splendor  of  word  or  imagery.  What  we  are  to  consider  in  the 
present  section,  however,  is,  how,  on  occasion,  poetic  diction  is 
at  liberty  to  diverge  from  the  common  usage  of  prose.  It  is,  after 
all,  only  in  occasional  words  and  combinations  that  the  two  separ- 
ate ;  the  great  bulk  of  usage  remains  common  to  both. 

The  motive  of  poetic  diction  is  reducible  to  a  single  principle. 
As  poetry  is  the  language  of  emotion  and  imagination,  its  verbal 
peculiarities  portray  the  spontaneous  endeavor  to  make  utterance 
more  effective,  either  in  impressiveness  or  in  picturesquenesg,  In 


50  POETIC  DICTION. 

a  word,  poetic  diction  is  heightened  language,  —  the  result  in  words 
of  the  fervor  and  sense  of  beauty  that  reign  in  the  poet's  mind. 
"  The  word  of  the  Poet  by  whom  the  deeps  of  the  world  are  stirred, 
The  music  that  robes  it  in  language  beneath  and  beyond  the  word." 

The  following  are  the  main  characteristics  of  poetic  diction, 
named  in  an  order  corresponding  to  poetry's  natural  divergence 
from  the  language  of  common  life.  What  this  order  is,  was  ascer- 
tained by  the  study  of  Wordsworth's  pastoral,  "  Michael,"  a  poem 
standing,  in  style  and  subject,  at  only  a  moderate  remove  from 
prose.  It  is  chiefly  by  citations  from  this  work  that  the  first  two 
main  characteristics  here  given  are  exemplified. 

I. 

Poetic  Brevity  of  Expression.'  —  The  first  and  easiest  liberty 
taken  in  the  spontaneous  effort  of  poetry  to  heighten  language  is 
the  liberty  of  condensation  and  abbreviation  ;  this  because  poetry 
is  naturally  averse  to  lengthiness.  Here  a  distinction  must  be 
made.  Lengthiness  in  expression  is  not  synonymous  with  length  ; 
nor  does  poetry  shun  long  constructions  or  long  words  in  them- 
selves. By  lengthiness  is  meant  length  -without  force ;  and  it  is 
oftenest  apparent  in  those  small  words,  particles  of  connection  and 
relation,  which  constitute  not  the  thought  but  the  joints  of  the 
thought.  Poetry  takes  liberties  first  with  these,  because,  striking 
as  it  does  for  the  strong  points,  it  clears  away  or  subordinates 
whatever  impedes  progress  to  them.  In  the  case  of  important 
words,  also,  whenever  they  may  be  made  more  telling,  poetry  con- 
denses or  compounds  to  suit  its  purpose. 

i.  Poetic  diction  abbreviates  or  omits  particles.  Conjunctions, 
adverbs,  and  relatives  may  be  named  as  representatives  of  this  class 
of  words ;  symbolic  words,  they  will  be  called  later.  Such  words, 
from  their  subordinate  office,  are  necessarily  unemphatic,  and  if 
used  with  scrupulous  fullness  tend  to  drag  the  sense. 

l  In  the  preparation  of  this  section  on  Poetic  Diction,  many  valuable  suggestions 
are  taken  from  Abbott  and  Seeley's  "  English  Lessons  for  English  People." 


POETIC  DICTION.  51 

EXAMPLES.  —  i .  Abbreviation,  or  choice  of  shorter  form :  "  The  hills  which 
he  so  oft  had  climbed;"  "When  Michael,  telling  o'er  his  years;  "  "Ere 
yet  the  boy  had  put  on  boy's  attire;"  "Though  naught  was  left  undone;" 
" '  T  were  better  to  be  dumb  than  to  talk  thus." 

2.  Omission,  a.  Of  the  article:  "  When^day  was  gone;"  "Some  injury 
done  to^sickle^flail,  or /^scythe;"  "Not  fearing  toil  nor^length  of  weary 
days."  b.  Of  conjunctive  particles :  "  But^soon  as  Luke  could  stand."  c.  Of 
relative:  "Even  if  I  could  speak  of  things Athou  canst  not  know  of;" 
"  Exceeding  was  the  love/\he  bare  to  him." 

The  omission  of  the  relative  is  less  frequent  in  Wordsworth  than  in  some 
others ;  nor  does  he  make  any  omitted  or  condensed  construction  violent. 
Compare  with  him  some  passages  from  Browning :  — 

"  You  have  the  sunrise  now,/\joins  truth  to  truth, 
Shoots  life  and  substance  into  death  and  void," 

where  the  subject-relative  is  omitted;  — 

"  Whence  need  to  bravely  disbelieve  report 
Through  increased  faith  in /^thing/^  reports  belie," 

where  the  article  and  the  object-relative  are  omitted;  — 

"  For  how  could  saints  and  martyrs  fail^see  truth 

Streak  the  night's  blackness?  " 

where  the  sign  of  the  infinitive  is  omitted.     Browning's  omission  of  the  relative 
is  so  frequent  as  to  be  a  mannerism. 

2.  Poetry  uses  more  frequently  than  does  prose  the  possessive 
for  brevity's  sake;  as,  "by  the  streamlefs  edge,"  "with  morrow's 
dawn,"  "  his  Heart  and  his  Hearfs  joy."    In  prose  the  possessive 
is  mostly  confined  to  personal  nouns  and  some  few  idioms  like  the 
one  in  the  foregoing  sentence    ("  for  brevity's  sake ")  ;   beyond 
these  it  is  apt  to  become  an  affectation. 

3.  Poetry  exercises  greater  liberty  than  prose  in  making  com- 
pounds for  an  occasion. 

EXAMPLES  IN  "MICHAEL."  —  "Surviving  comrade  of  uncounted  hours." 
"Did  .  .  .  overbrtnv  large  space  beneath."  "Brings  hope  with  it,  and  forward- 
looking  thoughts."  "  Turned  to  their  cleanly  supper-board."  "  With  Luke 
that  evening  thitherward  he  walked." 

The  tendency  to  join  two  words  into  one  by  compounding  is 
close  to  the  further  tendency  to  condense  important  words  or 
choose  short  forms  for  them ;  this  is  seen  especially  in  the  fre- 


52  POETIC  DICTION. 

quency,  so  great  as  almost  to  become  the  rule,  with  which  poetry 
leaves  off  the  adverbial  termination  ;  as  altern  for  alternately,  scarce 
for  scarcely.  In  other  parts  of  speech,  also,  terminations  are  often 
discarded ;  as  in  list  for  listen,  vale  for  valley,  marge  for  margin. 

The  above  examples  are  mostly  taken,  with  design,  from  poetry 
pitched  in  a  rather  low  key ;  in  poems  where  the  passion  or  pic- 
turesqueness  is  greater,  of  course  the  boldness  of  the  effects  is 
correspondingly  increased. 

EXAMPLES  OF  COMPOUNDS.  —  From  Shakespeare  :  "  the  always-wind-obey- 
ing  deep."  From  Tennyson:  "love-loyal  to  the  least  wish  of  the  king"; 
"the  peak  haze-hidden."  From  Browning:  "the  cloud-cup's  brim";  "yet 
human  at  the  red-ripe  of  the  heart." 

II. 

Poetic  Archaisms  and  Non-Colloquialisms. — The  next  step 
that  poetry  takes,  in  its  endeavor  to  heighten  language  above 
prose  usage,  is  to  employ  words  elevated  above  everyday  associa- 
tions, and  thus  more  congenial  to  the  fervid  and  imaginative 
region  in  which  poetry  moves. 

i.  A  very  natural  poetic  impulse  is  the  employment  of  archa- 
isms. An  archaism  (from  the  Greek  dp^aios,  old,  ancienf)  is  a 
word,  or  more  commonly  a  form,  older  than  current  use,  an  expres- 
sion that,  though  intelligible,  is  no  longer  employed  in  ordinary 
unemotional  discourse. 

The  uncommonness  of  an  archaic  expression,  and  its  associa- 
tions of  age,  fit  it  for  the  higher  and  purer  air  of  poetry ;  for  the 
unusual  form  rouses  just  the  attention  needed  to  elevate  the 
reader's  mind  above  the  commonplace,  and  to  seek  what  the  word 
conveys  more  than  is  involved  in  mere  assertion. 

EXAMPLES  OF  ARCHAISMS. — From  Wordsworth's  "Michael":  "Exceeding 
was  the  love  he  bare  to  him";  "Albeit  of  a  stern,  unbending  mind";  "We 
have,  thou  knmvest,  another  Kinsman."  This  last  example,  representing  the 
pronoun  of  the  second  person  singular  and  the  old  verbal  forms  in  -eth  and 
-est,  gives  an  archaism  very  common,  more  the  rul<:  than  the  exception,  in 
serious  poetry. 


POETIC  DICTION.  53 

A  whole  poem  is  sometimes  written  in  archaic  diction,  as  suited  to  the 
character  of  its  subject.  As  example  of  this,  William  Morris's  "  Sigurd  the 
Volsung  "  may  be  mentioned,  the  first  six  lines  of  which  will  indicate  the  tone 
of  the  whole. 

"  There  was  a  dwelling  of  Kings  ere  the  world  was  waxen  old ; 
Dukes  were  the  door-wards  there,  and  the  roofs  were  thatched  with  gold; 
Earls  were  the  wrights  that  wrought  it,  and  silver  nailed  its  doors ; 
Earls'  wives  were  the  weaving-women,  queens'  daughters  strewed  its  floors, 
And  the  masters  of  its  song-craft  were  the  mightiest  men  that  cast 

The  sails  of  the  storm  of  battle  adown  the  bickering  blast." 

i 

The  following,  from  Byron's  "  Childe  Harold,"  is  an  artificial  imitation  of 
the  antique :  — 

"  Whilom  in  Albion's  isle  there  dwelt  a  youth, 
Who  ne  in  virtue's  ways  did  take  delight ; 
But  spent  his  days  in  riot  most  uncouth, 
And  vex'd  with  mirth  the  drowsy  ear  of  Night. 
Ah,  me !  in  sooth  he  was  a  shameless  wight. . . . 
Childe  Harold  was  he  hight." 

2.  The  same  feeling  that  reigns  in  the  use  of  archaisms  leads 
poetry  also  to  shun  colloquial  expressions. 

A  colloquialism  belongs  to  ordinary  states  of  mind ;  it  is  un- 
sought and  unvalued  expression,  language  as  it  were  in  undress. 
Poetry,  in  the  nature  of  the  case,  is  elevated;  its  exceptional 
nature  calls  for  unusual  and  unsullied  language ;  and  even  when, 
in  certain  lower  forms,  it  employs  the  language  of  common  life  to 
a  limited  extent,  it  refines  it  and  gives  it  a  tone  above  the  prosaic 
relations  to  which  it  belongs. 

NOTE.  — This  averseness  to  colloquial  language  shows  itself  in  two  ways :  — 

1.  In  an  impulse  to  find  unhackneyed  words  for  prosaic  things;   as  in  the 
following  instances  from  "  Michael":  "At  the  church-door  they  made  a  gath- 
ering for  him "   (instead  of  took  a  collection) ;   "  where  he  grew  wondrous 
rich  "  (colloquial  prose  would  say  got  very  rich) ;    "  wrought  at  the  sheep- 
fold"  (the  common  preterite  is  •worked'). 

2.  In  the  avoidance,  or  very  sparing  use,  of  conversational  abbreviations;  as 
don't,  can't,  I'll,  he'll,  and  the  like.     It  is  rather  remarkable  that  the  abbre- 
viation V  is,  for  it  is,  which  is  less  used  in  ordinary  prose  and  conversation 
than  it's,  is  correspondingly  more  natural  as  a  poetic  abbreviation. 


54  POETIC  DICTION. 

It  is  instructive  to  note  how  Shakespeare  shows  his  fine  sense 
of  the  different  regions  to  which  thought  of  different  kinds  belongs, 
by  the  alternation  of  verse  and  prose  dialogue  in  his  dramas.  For 
common  and  clownish  characters,  and  for  details  of  everyday  life, 
he  employs  colloquial  prose ;  but  from  this,  and  not  infrequently 
in  the  same  scene,  the  expression  rises  spontaneously,  as  sentiment 
and  speakers  are  nobler,  into  dramatic  verse.  Poetic  diction  and 
colloquial  diction  have  each  their  well-defined  sphere. 

NOTE. — The  following,  from  The  Merchant  of  Venice,  will  illustrate  how 
Shakespeare  on  occasion  intersperses  prose  and  verse  :  — 

"  Lorenzo.   How  every  fool  can  play  upon  the  word !     I  think  the  best 
grace  of  wit  will  shortly  turn  into  silence,  and  discourse  grow  commendable 
in  none  only  but  parrots.     Go  in,  sirrah;  bid  them  prepare  for  dinner. 
Launcelot.   That  is  done,  sir;   they  have  all  stomachs. 

Lorenzo.  Goodly  Lord,  what  a  wit-snapper  are  you !  then  bid  them  prepare 
dinner. 

Launcelot.   That  is  done  too,  sir;   only  'cover'  is  the  word. 
Lorenzo.   Will  you  cover  then,  sir? 
Launcelot.   Not  so,  sir,  neither;   I  know  my  duty. 

Lorenzo.  Yet  more  quarrelling  with  occasion !  Wilt  thou  show  the  whole 
wealth  of  thy  wit  in  an  instant?  I  pray  thee,  understand  a  plain  man  in  his 
plain  meaning:  go  to  thy  fellows;  bid  them  cover  the  tables,  serve  in  the 
meat,  and  we  will  come  in  to  dinner. 

Launcelot.  For  the  table,  sir,  it  shall  be  served  in;  for  the  meat,  sir,  it 
shall  be  covered;  for  your  coming  in  to  dinner,  sir,  why,  let  it  be  as  humours 
and  conceits  shall  govern.  [Exit. 

Lorenzo.   O  dear  discretion,  how  his  words  are  suited  J 
The  fool  hath  planted  in  his  memory 
An  army  of  good  words;   and  I  do  know 
A  many  fools,  that  stand  in  better  place, 
Garnish'd  like  him,  that  for  a  tricksy  word 
Defy  the  matter.     How  cheer' st  thou,  Jessica? 
And  now,  good  sweet,  say  thy  opinion, 
How  dost  thou  like  the  Lord  Bassanio's  wife? 

Jessica.    Past  all  expressing.     It  is  very  meet 
The  Lord  Bassanio  live  an  upright  life; 
For,  having  such  a  blessing  in  his  lady, 
He  finds  the  joys  of  heaven  here  on  earth; 
And  if  on  earth  he  do  not  mean  it,  then 
In  reason  he  should  never  come  to  heaven." 


POETIC  DICTION.  55 

III. 

Expression  heightened  for  the  Sake  of  Picturesqueness. — 
With  this  feature  of  poetic  diction  we  enter  upon  the  charac- 
teristics found  in  the  more  fervid  and  ambitious  types  of  poetry. 
Being  of  such  nature,  these  types  naturally  seek  such  words  as 
will  yield  the  utmost  obtainable  of  beauty  or  suggestiveness.  The 
reader's  imagination  is  directly  appealed  to,  by  language  adapted 
to  make  it  active,  that  he  may,  as  it  were,  cooperate  with  the  poet 
in  creating  a  picture  of  the  object  or  idea  portrayed. 

The  following  are  the  chief  means  employed  to  give  language 
that  heightened  quality  here  called  by  the  general  name  of  pic- 
turesqueness. 

i.  Poetic  picturesqueness  is  sought  first  of  all  by  imagery  or 
word-painting.  Words  that  contain  figurative  suggestiveness  are 
preferred  to  plain,  specific  terms  to  general ;  similes  and  descrip- 
tive comparisons  are  freely  introduced,  and  often  revelled  in  ap- 
parently for  their  own  sake  merely,  and  followed  out  at  length 
whenever  the  beauty  or  boldness  of  the  design  may  be  enhanced 
thereby. 

NOTE.  —  The  picturing  power  of  words,  so  much  better  felt  than  described, 
may  here  be  illustrated  by  an  example,  from  Tennyson's  "  Lotos  Eaters." 

" '  Courage ! '  he  said,  and  pointed  toward  the  land, 
'  This  mounting  wave  will  roll  us  shoreward  soon.' 
In  the  afternoon  they  came  unto  a  land 
In  which  it  seemed  always  afternoon. 
All  round  the  coast  the  languid  air  did  swoon, 
Breathing  like  one  that  hath  a  weary  dream. 
Full-faced  above  the  valley  stood  the  moon; 
And  like  a  downward  smoke,  the  slender  stream 
Along  the  cliff  to  fall  and  pause  and  fall  did  seem. 

A  land  of  streams!  some,  like  a  downward  smoke, 

Slow-dropping  veils  of  thinnest  lawn,  did  go ; 

And  some  thro'  wavering  lights  and  shadows  broke, 

Rolling  a  slumbrous  sheet  of  foam  below. 

They  saw  the  gleaming  river  seaward  flow 

From  the  inner  land :  far  off,  three  mountain-tops, 

Three  silent  pinnacles  of  aged  snow, 

Stood  sunset-flush'd:  and  dew'd  with  showery  drops, 

Up-clomb  the  shadowy  pine  above  the  woven  copse." 


56  POETIC  DICTION. 

Of  course  prose  employs  imagery  too,  but  only  for  an  ulterior 
object,  to  illustrate  or  emphasize  thought  that  already  exists  in  lit- 
eral form.  Poetry  goes  farther,  and  employs  imagery  to  give  sub- 
stance to  the  thought ;  it  is  frequently  the  case  that  the  thought  is 
the  image,  and  cannot  exist  without  it.  We  find  accordingly  that 
many  ideas  are  introduced  into  poetry  that  but  for  their  imagina- 
tive or  picturesque  suggestiveness  would  never  find  place  in  litera- 
ture. As  a  consequence,  poetic  imagery  is  not  always  easy  to  re- 
duce to  motive ;  there  seems  no  logical  necessity  calling  for  it, 
nor  any  explanation  why  it  is  so  and  not  otherwise,  except  the 
poet's  free  creative  impulse. 

2.  A  second  means  of  poetic  picturesqueness  is  the  employ- 
ment of  epithet.  An  epithet  may  be  defined  as  a  descriptive 
adjective ;  that  is  to  say,  an  adjective  not  essential  to  the  under- 
standing of  its  substantive,  but  (as  the  derivation  of  the  word, 
from  eTri  and  TIJ^/U,  to  add  to,  implies)  added  in  order  to  give 
some  descriptive  or  characterizing  feature,  some  coloring,  or  strik- 
ing accompaniment.  Epithet  belongs  therefore  to  the  more  vivid 
agencies  of  expression ;  its  presence  indicates  that  vigor  and 
keenness  of  perception  which  is  most  distinctive  of  the  poetic 
mood. 

Three  kinds  of  epithets  may  here  be  defined  and  exempli- 
fied. 

First,  what  are  called  essential  epithets  are  used  to  express  some 
quality  already  involved  in  the  noun ;  as  "  wet  waves,"  "  white 
milk,"  "green  pastures,"  "the  sharp  sword."  These,  naming  a 
thing  by  its  characterizing  quality,  simply  bring  out  into  promi- 
nence what  would  otherwise  be  unthought  of  from  its  obvious- 
ness. 

In  the  same  class  with  these  may  be  mentioned  a  peculiar  use 
of  epithets,  notably  in  Homer  and  the  early  ballads,  as  a  constant 
accompaniment  of  their  nouns,  without  special  reference  to  their 
fitness  on  any  given  occasion.  Thus,  Achilles  is  "  swift-footed " 
when  he  is  sitting  in  council  or  sleeping,  as  well  as  when  he  is  run- 
ning. So  too  we  have  "  bright-eyed  AtheneV  "  white-armed  Juno," 


POETIC  DICTION.  57 

"merry  England,"  "the  doughty  Douglas,"  "the  bold  Sir  Bedi- 
vere  "  ;  adjective  and  noun  making  one  term  indivisible  for  the 
purpose  and  tone  of  the  poem  in  which  they  occur. 

Secondly  may  be  mentioned  what  we  may  name  decorative  epi- 
thets. These,  which  comprise  by  far  the  greatest  proportion,  and 
especially  in  modern  poetry,  are  employed  to  give  elements  of  life 
and  color  not  necessarily  involved  in  the  object ;  they  enrich  the 
idea  by  adding  picturesque  qualities.  In  the  lines,  "with  bossy 
beaten  work  of  mountain  chains,"  and  "  they  roamed  the  daisied 
fields  together,"  both  of  which  are  from  prose  works,  we  recog- 
nize such  superadded  features  in  the  epithets.  It  is  in  poetry,  how- 
ever, that  expressions  like  these  are  more  natural ;  and  when  they 
occur  in  prose  it  is  some  exceptional  prose,  akin  in  sentiment  and 
feeling  to  poetry.  How  rich  poetic  literature  often  is  in  epithet, 
may  be  illustrated  by  the  following,  from  Keats's  "  Lamia  "  :  — 

"Upon  a  time,  before  the  faery  broods 
Drove  Nymph  and  Satyr  from  the  prosperous  woods, 
Before  King  Oberon's  bright  diadem, 
Sceptre,  and  mantle,  clasp'd  with  dewy  gem, 
Frighted  away  the  Dryads  and  the  Fauns 
From  rushes  green,  and  brakes,  and  cowslip\i  lawn :>, 
The  ever-smitten  Hermes  empty  left 
YliagvUeH  throne,  bent  warm  on  amorous  theft: 
From  high  Olympus  had  he  stolen  light, 
On  this  side  of  Jove's  clouds,  to  escape  the  sight 
Of  his  great  summoner,  and  made  retreat 
Into  a  forest  on  the  shores  of  Crete." 

Such  epithets  may  sometimes,  by  a  license  very  rare  in  prose,  be 
used  without  their  substantives ;  thus,  Milton  has  "  the  dank" 
"  the  dry"  for  water  and  land.  Sometimes  also  an  epithet  may  be 
used  substantively  and  be  modified  by  a  second  epithet ;  as,  "  the 
breezy  blue,"  "the  sheeted  dead."  "the  dead  vast  of  the  night." 

Thirdly  may  be  mentioned  what  are  called  phrase  epithets,  — 
epithets  employed,  by  way  of  condensation,  to  suggest  or  imply  an 
idea  whose  full  expression  would  require  a  phrase  or  clause.  Such 
epithets  are  tested  by  inquiring  how  much  they  involve. 


58  POETIC  DICTION. 

The  following  examples  will  illustrate  them. 

"  Even  copious  Dryclen  wanted,  or  forgot 
The  last  and  greatest  art,  the  art  to  blot." 

Here  the  epithet  is  equivalent  to  "  though  he  was  copious,"  imply- 
ing that  in  his  great  wealth  of  expression  Dryden  could  have  af- 
forded to  strike  out  the  poorer  passages,  being  able  to  supply  their 
place  with  better.  Consider  how  much  that  well-chosen  word 
"  copious  "  stands  for.  In  the  lines, 

"  Not  so  when  swift  Camilla  scours  the  plain, 
Flies  o'er  the  unbending  corn,  and  skims  along  the  main,"  — 

the  full  sense  implied  in  the  epithet  is  "  which  had  not  time,  as  she 
passed  over  it,  to  bend  beneath  her."  Notice  that  the  mere  descrip- 
tive epithet  "  swift,"  in  the  first  line  of  the  couplet,  is  not  suscepti- 
ble of  such  expanded  sense.  The  following,  from  Keats,  is  a  very 
bold  and  striking  example  :  — 

"  So  those  two  brothers,  with  their  murdered  man 
Rode  past  fair  Florence,"  — 

where  by  the  word  "murdered,"  as  the  context  shows,  the  poet 
means  "  whom  they  were  about  to  murder,"  or  "  murdered  in 
anticipation." 

Phrase  epithet  belongs  more  to  poetic  brevity  than  to  poetic  pic- 
turesqueness ;  but  it  is  discussed  here,  in  order  that  it  may  appear 
with  the  other  kinds  of  epithet.  It  is  the  kind  most  naturally  used 
in  prose. 

The  management  of  epithet  furnishes  one  of  the  most  delicate 
indications,  especially  in  prose  style,  of  a  writer's  taste  or  lack  of 
taste.  A  very  effective  instrument  of  picturesqueness,  it  is  also  a 
precarious  one,  and  requires  much  caution  and  restraint  in  prose, 
or  the  style  may  easily  be  loaded  down  and  become  tawdry.1  It  is 
the  recognition  of  this  fact  that  has  led  some  writers  to  give  the 
somewhat  sweeping  advice,  "  Never  use  two  adjectives  where  one 
will  do ;  never  use  an  adjective  at  all  where  a  noun  will  do  "  ;  advice 

1  See  Fundamental  Processes,  p.  155. 


POETIC  DICTION.  59 

that  is  certainly  worth  remembering,  though  there  may  be  excep- 
tions in  its  application. 

3.  A  third  means  of  poetic  picturesqueness,  or  at  least  of  poetic 
distinction,  consists  in  using  words  in  senses  strikingly  different 
from  their  current  acceptation.  "  It  is  doubtless  the  privilege  of  a 
poet,"  says  Mr.  S.  H.  Butcher,  "  to  force  a  word  back,  along  the 
line  of  its  own  development,  in  the  direction  of  its  etymology  or  of 
primitive  usage."  Two  or  three  examples  may  be  given.  From 

Tennyson  :  — 

"  Live  —  yet  live  — 

Shall  sharpest  pathos  blight  us,  knowing  all 
Life  needs  for  life  is  possible  to  will  — 
Live  happy." 

Here  "  pathos "  is  used  in  the  old  Greek  sense  of  suffering. 
Another  example  from  Tennyson  :  — 

"  not  that  tall  felon  there 
Whom  thou  by  sorcery  or  unhappiness 
Or  some  device,  hast  foully  overthrown,"  — 

where  "  unhappiness  "  is  used  in  the  sense  of  unlucky  hap  or  acci- 
dent. The  following  is  from  Bryant :  — 

"  Kind  words,  remembered  voices  once  so  sweet, 

Smiles,  radiant  long  ago, 
And  features,  the  great  soul's  apparent  seat." 

Here  the  word  "  apparent  "  has  the  sense  of  making  appear  or  be 
evident. 

Such  liberty  with  words  is  almost  the  exclusive  prerogative  of 
poetry.  An  example,  from1  Charles  Lamb,  will  show  how  estrang- 
ing it  is  in  prose  :  — 

"While  childhood,  and  while  dreams,  reducing  childhood,  shall  be  left, 
imagination  shall  not  have  spread  her  holy  wings  totally  to  fly  the  earth." 

This  cannot  be  quoted  as  a  model  even  from  Lamb ;  its  justifica- 
tion in  him,  if  it  has  any,  is  due  to  the  "  self-pleasing  quaintness  " 
which  was  his  avowed  idiosyncrasy. 


60  POETIC  DICTION. 

IV. 

Expression  modified  for  the  Sake  of  Sound.  —  As  the  funda- 
mental form  of  poetry  is  based  on  a  regular  arrangement  of  words 
according  to  accent  and  articulation,  it  is  obvious  that  the  element 
of  sound  plays  a  much  more  prominent  part  in  poetry  than  in 
prose.  Modifications  exacted  by  metre  and  rhyme  it  is  not  in  our 
province  here  to  discuss ;  apart  from  these,  however,  poetic  dic- 
tion, in  its  general  choice  of  words,  is  largely  influenced  by  the 
desire  for  easy  or  musical  or  descriptive  articulation. 

1.  Regard  for  euphonious  sound  is  often  manifest  in  the  choice 
or  modification  of  proper  names.     "Albion"  for  England,  "Erin" 
for  Ireland,  "Caledonia"  for  Scotland,  "Columbia"  for  America, 
were  originally  adopted  mainly  for  their  imaginative  and  unworn 
associations ;  but  their  form  indicates  that  the  considerations  of 
euphony  also  were  prominent.     Tennyson,  in  the  epilogue  to  the 
•Idyls  of  the  King,  changes  the  name  Mallory  to  Malleor,  probably 
the  better  to  satisfy  his  ear.     Milton's  ear  was  very  sensitive  to 
the  sound  of  names  ;  he  has  "ammiral"  for  admiral,  "Chersoness" 
for  Chersonese,  "  Oreb  "  for  Horeb,  "  Chemos  "  for  Chemosh,  and 
many  more.     He  often  makes  a  passage  musical  by  the  names  he 

chooses. 

"  From  Arachosia,  from  Candaor  east, 
From  Margiana,  to  the  Hyrcanian  cliffs 
Of  Caucasus,  and  dark  Iberian  dales; 
From  Atropatia,  and  the  neighboring  plains 
Of  Adiabene,  Media,  and  the  south 
Of  Susiana,  to  Balsara's  haven." 

2.  Poetry  takes  greater  liberties  than  does  prose  in  employing 
alliteration  and  assonance.     Alliteration  is  the  name  given  to  a 
near  recurrence  of  the  same  initial  sound.     It  is  a  very  natural 
device  in  English ;  the  early  poetry  of  the  language  was  all  allit- 
erative, and  no  doubt  the  tendency  lives  in  the  genius  of  the  liter- 
ature.    It  may  be  interesting  to  compare  a  passage  of  the  old 
alliterative  verse  with  the  refined  use  of  alliteration  in  our  day. 
The  following  is  from  "  The  Vision  of  Piers  the  Plowman  "  :  — 


POETIC  DICTION.  61 

"  In  a  corner  .reson  •  whan  soft  was  the  ronne, 
I  shope  me  in  5/£roudes  •  as  I  a  s/tepe  were, 
In  /jabite  as  an  ^eremite  •  vn/wly  of  workes, 
Went  tvyde  in  this  world  •  wondres  to  here." 

\\'ith  this  compare  the  following  stanza  from  Swinburne  :  — 

"  When  the  hounds  of  spring  are  on  winter's  traces, 
The  mother  of  ;«onths  in  weadow  or  plain 

Fills  the  shadows  and  windy  places 
With  /isp  of  /eaves  and  ripple  of  rain ; 

And  the  Arown  Aright  nightingale  amorous 

Is  half  assuaged  for  Itylus 

For  the  Thracian  ships  and  the/breignyhces; 
The  tongueless  vigil,  and  all  the  pain." 

In  this  latter  example  the  alliteration  is  no  more  obtrusive,  but 
exists  as  a  half-hidden  music  in  the  structure  of  the  verse. 

Assonance,  in  its  strict  technical  sense,  is  the  name  given  to  a 
recurrence  of  the  same  vowel  sound,  irrespective  of  the  consonantal 
setting  in  which  it  is  found  :  as, 

"  The  groves  of  'Blarney 
They  are  so  charnu'ng." 

In  a  popular  sense,  however,  the  word  is  often  used  as  nearly 
synonymous  with  rhyme.  In  both  senses  of  the  word,  assonance 
enters  largely  into  the  body  of  the  verse,  as  well  as  at  the  ends ; 

as, 

"  How  sad  and  bad  and  mad  it  was  — 
But  then,  how  it  was  sweet !  " 

Assonance  and  alliteration  are  combined  in 

"  Airy,  Fairy  Lilian, 
flitting,  /airy  Lilian." 

These  devices  may  easily  become  so  noticeable  as  to  make  the 
style  trifling  and  artificial. 

3.  Poetry  is  more  sensitive  and  flexible  than  prose  in  making 
the  sound  answer  to  the  sense.  This  characteristic,  attained 
partly  through  the  rhythm  and  partly  through  the  articulate  sounds, 
is  the  secret  of  much  of  its  power  in  word-painting,  already  men- 


62  POETIC  DICTION. 

tioned.  The  subject  of  the  harmony  of  sound  and  sense  is  a 
broad  one  ;  and  only  a  few  examples  can  be  given  here,  principally 
by  way  of  suggesting  how  important  it  is.  It  will  be  taken  up 
again,  later  on,  in  its  relation  to  prose  usage.1 

Very  natural  in  poetry,  first,  is  the  impulse  to  make  vocal  sounds 
reproduce  the  movements  and  sounds  of  nature.  In  the  following, 
for  instance,  the  consonant  combinations  str  and  si,  which  must 
be  pronounced  somewhat  slowly,  are  employed  to  denote  slowness 
and  reluctance  of  movement :  — 

"  So  strode  he  back  slow  to  the  wounded  King." 

Quickness  and  life  are  expressed  in  the  following  by  a  change  ol 
rhythm  from  an  iambus  to  a  tribrach  :  — 

"Then  would  he  whistle  rapid  as  any  lark." 

The  following  is  a  remarkable  imitation  of  a  heavy  sound  echoing 
among  rocks  :  — 

"  He  spoke;  and,  high  above,  I  heard  them  blast 
The  steep  slate-quarry,  and  the  great  echo  flap 
And  buffet  round  the  hills,  from  bluff  to  bluff." 

But  secondly,  poetry  may  be  equally  felicitous  in  making  com- 
binations of  vocal  sounds  portray  states  of  mind,  states  of  nature, 
or  general  characters  of  combined  events.  In  the  following,  for 
instance,  desolateness,  both  of  mind  and  weather,  is  indicated  by 
"  the  harsh  sibilants  in  the  third  line,  and  the  intentionally  hard 
alliteration  and  utter  want  of  rhythm  in  the  last  line  " 2 :  — 

"  He  is  not  here;   but  far  away 

The  noise  of  life  begins  again, 
And  ghastly  thro'  the  drizzling  rain 
On  the  bald  street  breaks  the  blank  day." 

A  line  without  rhythm  is  similarly  employed  by  Milton  to  portray 
the  swift  and  utter  rout  of  the  rebellious  angels  :  — 

"  headlong  themselves  they  threw 
Down  from  the  verge  of  heaven ;  eternal  wrath 
Burnt  after  them  to  the  bottomless  pit" 

1  See  section  on  Fundamental  Processes,  p.  168. 

2  Genung,  "Tennyson's  In  Memoriam :  a  Study,"  p.  109. 


PROSE   DICTION.  63 

Such  spontaneous  features  of  the  poet's  art  as  these  furnish  con- 
tinual illustration  of  this  remark  of  Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson  : 
"  Words  are  available  for  something  which  is  more  than  knowledge. 
Words  afford  a  more  delicious  music  than  the  chords  of  any  in- 
strument ;  they  are  susceptible  of  richer  colors  than  any  painter's 
palette ;  and  that  they  should  be  used  merely  for  the  transportation 
of  intelligence,  as  a  wheelbarrow  carries  brick,  is  not  enough.  The 
highest  aspect  of  literature  assimilates  it  to  painting  and  music. 
Beyond  and  above  all  the  domain  of  use  lies  beauty,  and  to  aim  at 
this  makes  literature  an  art." 


SECTION  THIRD. 

THE    CHARACTERISTICS  AND   TYPES   OF   PROSE 
DICTION. 

THE  distinctive  qualities  of  prose  diction  are  suggestively  indi- 
cated in  the  derivation  of  the  word  prose.  It  comes  from  the 
Latin  prosa,  a  contracted  form  of  prorsa,  which  itself  is  a  con- 
traction of  the  compound  pro-versa ;  an  adjective,  feminine  in 
form  because  the  noun  to  be  supplied  is  the  feminine  oratio,  dis- 
course ;  the  whole  meaning,  therefore,  "straight- forward  discourse." 
The  name  was  first  given,  no  doubt,  because,  instead  of  turning 
and  beginning  anew  when  it  has  reached  a  certain  measured 
length  (its  contrast,  verse,  versus,  means  a  turning),  the  line  keeps 
straight  on,  as  far  as  there  is  room  for  it.  But  the  characteristic 
straight-forward  is  capable  also  of  another  application.  Prose  dis- 
course is  straight- forward  in  two  senses  :  — 

In  not  changing  the  natural  order  of  words ; 

In  not  departing  from  the  common  use  of  words. 

This  is  another  way  of  saying  that  prose  is  the  language  of  ordi- 
nary ideas  and  sentiments ;  it  is  the  form  that  unstudied  speech 
assumes.  None  the  less,  however,  it  is  open  to  unlimited  study 


64  PROSE   DICTION. 

and  development,  and  perfection  in  it  is  among  the  greatest  of 
achievements  ;  this  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  in  the  history  of  every 
literature  prose  is  a  later  development  than  poetry,  and  by  the  fact 
that  the  number  of  transcendent  prose  writers,  in  any  generation 
and  in  the  whole  course  of  a  nation's  history,  is  much  smaller  than 
the  number  of  its  eminent  poets. 

The  above  description  of  prose  recognizes  it  merely  as  a  form 
of  expression.  Poetry  is  much  broader  than  this  :  it  includes  not 
only  form  but  material  and  thought.  We  cannot  reduce  it  to  mere 
mechanism  of  words  and  images.  The  proper  antithesis  to  prose, 
therefore,  is  not  poetry,  but  verse,  or  metrical  composition ;  while 
to  the  comprehensive  term  poetry  the  nearest  antithesis  (no  single 
word  expresses  it  fully)  is  perhaps  science,  taken  in  its  most  gen- 
eral sense  of  knowledge  or  instruction  presented  in  order. 

I.    CHARACTERISTICS   OF   PROSE  DICTION. 

These  have  in  great  part  been  suggested  in  the  preceding  pages, 
directly  in  the  rules  for  the  choice  of  words,  and  by  contrast  in 
the  section  on  poetic  diction.  They  need,  however,  to  be  brought 
together  in  a  brief  ordered  summary ;  and  this  may  be  done  un- 
der the  three  heads,  choice  of  words,  arrangement  of  words,  and 
connexion  of  words. 

I. 

As  to  Choice  of  Words.  —  The  ruling  standard  of  choice,  to 
which  all  other  considerations  are  subordinated,  is  utility.  Thi,s, 
because  it  is  the  characteristic  of  prose,  as  distinguished  from 
verse,  to  use  expression  not  for  the  mere  expression's  sake  but 
always  with  some  ulterior  end  in  view,  —  to  instruct,  or  convince, 
or  impress,  or  persuade.  Its  expression,  therefore,  is  ideally  an 
instrument  to  be  skillfully  wielded  to  that  end ;  free  on  occasion 
to  employ  plainness  of  language  or  elegance,  terseness  or  fullness, 
simplicity  or  elaborateness,  according  as  any  of  these  qualities 
may  commend  themselves  as  most  practically  useful  for  its  purpose. 


PROSE   DICTION.  65 

This  character  of  prose  dictates  that  for  the  sake  of  clearness 
words  be  taken  from  ordinary  life  and  from  the  recognized  usage 
of  the  day.  The  archaic  and  abbreviated  forms  of  poetry  are 
therefore  not  natural  to  prose ;  if  in  any  prose  they  are  found,  it 
is  such  prose  as  seeks  confessedly  to  produce  poetic  effects.  So 
also  any  far-fetched  or  cunningly  manufactured  terms  that  with- 
draw attention  from  the  idea  to  the  form  are  a  blemish,  because 
they  obscure  the  utility  that  in  some  application  should  govern 
every  word. 

If  picturesque  language  is  employed  in  prose,  it  must  likewise 
have  its  justification  in  utility.  Picturesqueness  may  be  part  of 
the  information  conveyed ;  or  it  may  be  needful  in  order  to  give 
an  assertion  due  distinction ;  if  so,  it  is  sought  for  its  practical  use. 
So  also  epithets,  which  in  prose,  as  has  been  said,  are  so  easily 
overdone,  may  be  kept  well  within  the  bounds  of  good  taste,  if 
they  are  always  estimated  by  the  power  or  effectiveness  they  add 
to  the  thought. 

NOTE.  —  To  illustrate  how  picturesqueness  may  be  an  integral  part  of  the 
information  conveyed,  one  or  two  examples,  taken  from  Abbott  and  Seeley's 
"  English  Lessons  for  English  People,"  may  here  be  given. 

It  would  hardly  be  fitting  to  use  the  expression  "  Emerald  Isle"  in  ordinary 
prose,  as,  for  instance,  "  Parliament,  during  this  session,  was  mainly  occupied 
with  the  Emerald  Isle";  but  the  expression  serves  a  useful  purpose,  by  reason 
of  its  very  imaginative  character,  in  such  a  sentence  as,  "  Accustomed  to  the 
arid  and  barren  deserts  of  Arabia,  the  eye  of  the  returning  soldier  rested  with 
pleasure  upon  the  rich,  bright  vegetation  of  the  Emerald  Isle."  Again,  the 
essential  epithet  in  "  He  drew  his  bright  sword  "  is  evidently  only  a  bit  of  use- 
less finery;  but  in  the  sentence,  "Laughing  at  the  peasant's  extemporized 
weapon,  the  soldier  drew  his  own  bright  sword,"  the  epithet  is  a  help  in  sharp- 
ening the  antithesis  and  making  the  information  more  vivid. 

It  is  thus  apparent  that  the  standard  of  utility  must  be  varied 
according  to  the  kind  of  information  conveyed.  "There  are  two 
kinds  of  things,"  says  Walter  Bagehot,1  "  those  which  you  need 
only  to  understand,  and  those  which  you  need  also  to  imagine. 

1  Bagehot,  Literary  Studies,  Vol.  II.  p.  241. 


66  PROSE   DICTION. 

That  a  man  bought  nine  hundredweight  of  hops  is  an  intelligible 
idea  —  you  do  not  want  the  hops  delineated  or  the  man  described  ; 
that  he  went  into  society  suggests  an  inquiry  —  you  want  to  know 
what  the  society  was  like,  and  how  far  he  was  fitted  to  be  there." 
In  the  latter  case,  accordingly,  the  writer  begins  to  have  occa- 
sion for  the  picturing  power  of  words ;  he  must  employ  language 
more  ambitiously  and  strikingly,  for  the  sake  of  a  more  complex 
effect. 

II. 

As  to  Arrangement  of  Words.  —  Prose  arranges  words  accord- 
ing to  the  requirements  of  directness  and  emphasis. 

In  poetry  the  exigencies  of  metre  sometimes  necessitate  arbi- 
trary changes  in  the  order  of  words.  A  more  practical  reason  is 
requisite  in  prose  diction.  Variations  from  the  natural  order  are 
indeed  not  infrequent,  but  they  justify  themselves  in  the  greater 
strength  or  more  convenient  grouping  of  ideas.  If  an  inversion  is 
introduced,  or  if  clauses  are  transposed,  the  change  is  made  in 
order  to  put  important  elements  of  the  thought  in  emphatic  places  ; 
and  this  of  course  may  be  a  desideratum  for  the  sake  of  some 
special  distinction.  Any  arrangement  that  cannot  so  defend  itself 
is  sure  to  sound  either  crude  or  affected. 

NOTE.  —  In  the  following  sentence  the  inverted  order  of  the  verbs  (the 
auxiliary  before  the  subject)  is  not  called  for  by  any  specially  impassioned 
character  of  the  thought;  and  the  effect  is  simply  crudeness:  "Indeed,  in 
nearly  all  of  George  Eliot's  novels  can  we  trace  in  some  character  a  likeness 
to  their  creator;  in  Gwendolen  even  has  the  writer  infused,  perhaps  uncon- 
sciously, something  of  her  own  personality."  The  rationale  of  inversion  in 
prose  will  be  given  later;  see  Section  on  Fundamental  Processes,  p.  165. 

After  directness  and  force  are  secured,  euphony  is  a  considera- 
tion ;  and  an  arrangement  that  enhances  the  agreeable  rhythm  of 
a  sentence  often  augments  its  other  desirable  qualities.  Care  is 
needed,  however,  not  to  sacrifice  force  to  smoothness,  and  not 
to  employ  artificial  forms  at  the  expense  of  truth. 


PROSE  DICTION.  67 

III. 

As  to  Connexion  of  Words.  —  Prose  connects  words  by  ex- 
pressing all  the  particles  of  relation  and  all  the  subordinate  ele- 
ments as  fully  as  may  be  requisite  for  perfect  clearness.  In  this 
respect  it  must  be  more  copious  and  scrupulous  than  poetry ;  it 
must  often  give  at  length  what  poetry  tends  to  shorten  or  omit. 

NOTE.  —  To  illustrate  how  much  and  what  kind  of  material,  that  may  be 
absent  from  poetry,  must  be  present  in  prose,  let  us  endeavor  to  express  the 
thought  of  the  following  stanza  from  Browning  in  such  prose  as,  by  the  ordi- 
nary standard,  will  be  adequate  to  give  the  idea  its  proper  fullness :  — 

" '  Why  from  the  world,'  Ferishtah  smiled, '  should  thanks 
Go  to  this  work  of  mine?     If  worthy  praise, 

Praised  let  it  be  and  welcome :  as  verse  ranks 
So  rate  my  verse  :  if  good  therein  outweighs 
Aught  faulty  judged,  judge  justly !  Justice  says: 

Be  just  to  fact,  or  blaming  or  approving: 

But  —  generous?    No,  nor  loving ! ' " 

In  changing  this  to  prose,  of  course  we  must  occasionally  substitute  a  prose 
•word  or  idiom  for  a  poetic  one.  The  added  matter  is  put  in  brackets. 

"  Why,"  [said]  Ferishtah  [with  a]  smile,  "  should  thanks  be  rendered  by 
the  world  for  this  work  of  mine?  If  [it  is]  worthy  [of]  praise,  let  it  be 
praised,  and  welcome.  Let  them  [simply]  rate  my  verse  as  verse  runs.  If 
[what  is]  good  in  it  outweighs  [what  is  ad-]  judged  [to  be]  faulty,  [let  them 
at  all  events]  judge  justly.  Justice  demands  [merely]  that  they  honestly  ac- 
knowledge [whatever  is]  fact,  whether  [in]  blame  or  [in]  approval;  but 
[that  they  should  be]  generous?  No;  [it  does  not  demand  that],  —  nor 
[that  they  should  be]  loving  [either]  !  " 

Here  it  will  be  seen  that  the  words  to  be  supplied  are  almost  exclusively 
particles,  —  that  is,  words  of  subordinate  rank  that  supply  the  connexions  and 
shadings  of  the  thought. 

To  understand  this  distinction  between  prose  and  poetry,  we 
need  to  take  note  of  the  two  classes  of  which  the  words  of  any 
language  are  composed,  —  called  by  Professor  Earle  presentive 
and  symbolic  words.1  The  presentive  are  those  which  by  them- 
selves present  a  definite  conception  to  the  mind  ;  such  are  nouns, 
verbs,  and  in  lower  degree  adjectives  and  adverbs.  The  symbolic 

1  Earle,  "  Philology  of  the  English  Tongue,"  pp.  218  sqq. 


68  PROSE   DICTION. 

words  are  those  which  by  themselves  contribute  nothing  to  the 
thought,  except  as  symbols  of  some  presentive  idea  or  of  some 
relation  between '  ideas ;  such  are  pronouns,  articles,  prepositions, 
conjunctions. 

This  distinction  in  the  offices  of  words  is  here  mentioned  in 
order  to  direct  attention  especially  to  the  importance  of  the  sym- 
bolic element  in  discourse.  In  the  skillful  use  of  this  element  lies 
the  secret  of  fineness  and  flexibility  of  language.  Symbolic  words, 
in  their  endlessly  varied  offices  of  modifying,  connecting,  coloring 
the  thought,  are  what  make  provision  "  for  the  lighter  touches  of 
expression,  the  vague  tints,  the  vanishing  points."  Hence  it  is 
mostly  by  these  that  we  estimate  the  efficiency  of  a  language  as 
an  instrument  of  thought;  for  instance,  the  ancient  Greek  lan- 
guage, universally  accounted  the  most  flexible  of  tongues  in  its 
adaptability  to  all  intricacies  of  the  idea,  holds  that  position  chiefly 
by  virtue  of  its  fine  and  copious  symbolic  element. 

The  English  language,  from  its  lack  of  inflections,  must  be  cor- 
respondingly more  scrupulous  in  its  words  of  relation.  The  syn- 
tax becomes  more  complex  in  proportion  as  the  etymology  is  more 
simple  ;  and  thus  the  art  of  building  words  together,  so  that  order, 
relation,  and  modification  shall  be  adequately  provided  for  and 
managed,  is  that  which,  in  English,  makes  perhaps  the  most 
strenuous  exactions  of  the  writer's  skill.  This  is  especially  true  of 
prose  writing,  wherein  clearness  is  the  paramount  consideration  ; 
not  only  the  words  chosen,  but  whatever  belongs  to  the  consecu- 
tion and  mutual  dependencies  of  the  thought,  goes  to  give  com- 
plexity to  his  problem. 

II.   TYPES   OF  PROSE  DICTION. 

Three  general  types  of  prose  diction  may  here  be  described,  to 
some  one  of  which  any  literary  work  in  prose  is  to  be  more  or  less 
predominantly  referred.  These  three  types  correspond  roughly  to 
the  three  fundamental  qualities  of  style,  —  arising,  as  do  they, 
from  the  predominance,  in  any  passage,  of  the  purely  didactic 
mood;  or  of  quickened  emotion,  or  of  active  imagination.  It  will 


PROSE  DICTION.  69 

be  seen  that  the  tendency,  as  these  successive  moods  govern  the 
discourse,  is  to  make  prose  approach  in  increasing  degree  toward 
poetic  diction ;  until,  in  the  third  or  imaginative  type,  it  is  capa- 
ble in  skillful  hands  of  advancing  to  the  very  verge  of  poetry. 

These  types  of  prose  are  here  represented  as  due  to  the  mood 
of  writing ;  but  the  author's  mood  itself,  it  should  be  remarked,  is 
determined  by  the  exactions  of  the  subject.  It  is  only  to  a  lim- 
ited degree  that  he  has  choice  of  modes  of  treatment.  The  kind 
of  thought  contains  potentially  its  own  diction.  An  impassioned 
treatment,  for  instance,  cannot  well  consist  with  a  subtle  thought ; 
to  be  impassioned  it  must  have  a  certain  largeness  and  universality 
of  idea,  such  as  we  see  in  the  topics  of  oratory.  In  like  manner 
a  subject  of  severe  thought  or  science  is  incapable  of  any  great 
approach  to  imaginative  expression ;  the  diction  of  poetic  prose 
has  its  own  sphere. 

Under  each  of  the  three  fundamental  types  will  be  adduced  an 
illustrative  passage  furnishing,  as  nearly  as  possible,  a  pure  exam- 
ple of  its  type. 

• 

I. 

The  Intellectual  Type. — The  first  type  of  prose  diction  may 
thus  be  named,  because  it  is  the  natural  language  of  one  who  is 
addressing  himself  simply  to  his  reader's  intellect ;  seeking,  that 
is,  to  inform,  instruct,  or  convince.  It  is  an  entirely  secondary 
matter  whether  the  reader  feels,  fancies,  is  excited  by  the  thought, 
or  not ;  it  is  not  such  thought  as  needs  any  reception  beyond  be- 
ing understood.  The  interest  centres  in  merely  transmitting  ideas 
from  one  mind  to  another.  * 

Under  this  type  falls  the  great  body  of  prose  discourse.  Its 
characteristics  need  not  be  enlarged  on  here,  being  evident 
enough  from  what  has  been  said  in  previous  sections.  Words 
are  chosen  with  primary  reference  to  the  idea ;  hence  the  ruling 
test  is  precision  and  clearness.  Figures  of  speech  may  be  used, 
being  natural  to  all  styles,  but  merely  in  their  illustrative  capacity. 
The  arrangement  and  connexion  of  words  are  managed  simply 
with  reference  to  economy  of  the  reader's  interpreting  power. 


70  PROSE    DICTION. 

Of  course  there  may  be  all  grades  of  this  type  of  prose,  from 
the  unstudied  simplicity  of  Bunyan  to  the  highly  finished  balance 
of  Macaulay ;  but  in  all  the  object  is  fundamentally  the  same,  — 
to  adapt  ideas  the  most  effectually  to  the  intellect,  the  understand- 
ing and  reasoning  powers,  of  the  reader. 

In  the  following  passage,  from  Southey's  "  Life  of  Nelson,"  the  task  is 
simply  to  give  information,  in  the  plainest  language,  of  an  event.  No  effort 
need  be  made  to  excite  interest,  or  to  vivify  by  poetic  devices;  the  subject  con- 
tains its  own  interest  and  beauty. 

"  It  had  been  part  of  Nelson's  prayer,  that  the  British  fleet  might  be  distin- 
guished by  humanity  in  the  victory  which  he  expected.  Setting  an  example 
himself,  he  twice  gave  orders  to  cease  firing  upon  the  Redoubtable,  supposing 
that  she  had  struck,  because  her  great  guns  were  silent;  for,  as  she  carried  no 
flag,  there  was  no  means  of  instantly  ascertaining  the  fact.  From  this  ship, 
which  he  had  thus  twice  spared,  he  received  his  death.  A  ball  fired  from  her 
mizzen-top,  which,  in  the  then  situation  of  the  two  vessels,  was  not  more  than 
fifteen  yards  from  that  part  of  the  deck  where  he  was  standing,  struck  the 
epaulette  on  his  left  shoulder,  about  a  quarter  after  one,  just  in  the  heat  of 
action.  He  fell  upon  his  face,  on  the  spot  which  was  covered  with  his  poor 
secretary's  blood.  Hardy,  who  was  a  few  steps  from  him,  turning  round,  saw 
three  men  raising  him  up.  'They  have  done  for  me  at  last,  Hardy,'  said  he. 
'I  hope  not,'  cried  Hardy.  'Yes!'  he  replied;  'my  backbone  is  shot 
through.' 

Yet  even  now,  not  for  a  moment  losing  his  presence  of  mind,  he  observed, 
as  they  were  carrying  him  down  the  ladder,  that  the  tiller  ropes,  which  had 
been  shot  away,  were  not  yet  replaced,  and  ordered  that  new  ones  should  be 
rove  immediately;  then,  that  he  might  not  be  seen  by  the  crew,  he  took  out 
his  handkerchief,  and  covered  his  face  and  his  stars.  Had  he  but  concealed 
these  badges  of  honor  from  the  enemy,  England,  perhaps,  would  not  have  had 
cause  to  receive  with  sorrow  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Trafalgar.  The  cock- 
pit was  crowded  with  wounded  and  dying  men ;  over  whose  bodies  he  was 
with  some  difficulty  conveyed,  and  laid  upon  a  pallet  in  the  midshipmen's 
berth.  It  was  soon  perceived,  upon  examination,  that  the  wound  was  mortal. 
This,  however,  was  concealed  from  all  except  Captain  Hardy,  the  chaplain, 
and  the  medical  attendants.  He  himself,  being  certain,  from  the  sensation  in 
his  back,  and  the  gush  of  blood  he  felt  momently  within  his  breast,  that  no 
human  care  could  avail  him,  insisted  that  the  surgeon  should  leave  him,  and 
attend  to  those  to  whom  he  might  be  useful;  'for,'  said  he,  'you  can  do  noth- 
ing for  me.' 


PROSE  DICTION.  71 

All  that  could  be  done  was  to  fan  him  with  paper,  and  frequently  to  give 
him  lemonade  to  alleviate  his  intense  thirst.  He  was  in  great  pain,  and  ex- 
pressed much  anxiety  for  the  event  of  the  action,  which  now  began  to  declare 
itself.  As  often  as  a  ship  struck,  the  crew  of  the  Victory  hurrahed;  and  at 
every  hurrah  a  visible  expression  of  joy  gleamed  in  the  eyes  and  marked  the 
countenance  of  the  dying  hero. 

Nelson  desired  to  be  turned  upon  his  right  side,  and  said,  '  I  wish  I  had 
not  left  the  deck ;  for  I  shall  soon  be  gone.'  Death  was,  indeed,  rapidly  ap- 
proaching. His  articulation  now  became  difficult ;  but  he  was  distinctly 
heard  to  say,  '  Thank  God,  I  have  done  my  duty  ! '  These  words  he  repeat- 
edly pronounced;  and  they  were  the  last  words  which  he  uttered.  He  ex- 
pired at  thirty  minutes  after  four,  three  hours  and  a  quarter  after  he  had 
received  his  wound." 

II. 

The  Impassioned  Type.  —  This  type  of  prose,  as  the  name  in- 
dicates, is  the  outcome  of  strong  and  exalted  emotion.  It  is  per- 
haps most  purely  represented  in  oratory ;  and  deals  with  the  great 
truths  that  come  home,  as  Lord  Bacon  says,  to  men's  "  business 
and  bosoms,"  the  important  truths  with  which  are  connected  the 
joys  and  sorrows,  the  hopes  and  fears,  the  affections  and  interests, 
of  all  men. 

The  emotion  that  rules  this  type  of  prose  leads  spontaneously 
to  some  of  the  characteristics  of  poetry.  This  is  seen,  for  one 
thing,  in  a  tendency  to  shun  lengthy  and  commonplace  words,  and 
labored  connexions  and  relations.  Secondly,  there  is  observable 
a  tendency  to  heighten  language,  by  employing  words  of  striking 
and  impressive  quality.  Thirdly,  a  decided  rhythm  is  evident,  not 
regular  and  measured,  like  poetic  metre,  but  none  the  less  a  true 
observance  of  the  sound  and  varied  cadence  of  words.  Thus 
this  type  advances  a  step  toward  poetry,  by  borrowing  not  yet  the 
poetic  vocabulary,  but  something  of  poetic  structure. 

The  following,  from  Daniel  Webster's  Oration  on  the  Bunker  Hill  Monu- 
ment, will  exemplify  the  general  elevated  tone  of  impassioned  discourse :  — 

"VENERABLE  MEN  !  you  have  come  down  to  us  from  a  former  generation. 
Heaven  has  bounteously  lengthened  out  your  lives,  that  you  might  behold  this 
joyous  day.  You  are  now  where  you  stood  fifty  years  ago,  this  very  hour,  with 


72  PROSE  DICTION. 

your  brothers  and  your  neighbors,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  in  the  strife  for  your 
country.  Behold,  how  altered !  The  same  heavens  are  indeed  over  your 
heads;  the  same  ocean  rolls  at  your  feet;  but  all  else  how  changed!  You 
hear  now  no  roar  of  hostile  cannon,  you  see  no  mixed  volumes  of  smoke  and 
flame  rising  from  burning  Charlestown.  The  ground  strewed  with  the  dead 
and  the  dying;  the  impetuous  charge;  the  steady  and  successful  repulse;  the 
loud  call  to  repeated  assault;  the  summoning  of  all  that  is  manly  to  repeated 
resistance;  a  thousand  bosoms  freely  and  fearlessly  bared  in  an  instant  to 
whatever  of  terror  there  may  be  in  war  and  death;  — all  these  you  have  wit- 
nessed, but  you  witness  them  no  more.  All  is  peace.  The  heights  of  yonder 
metropolis,  its  towers  and  roofs,  which  you  then  saw  filled  with  wives  and 
children  and  countrymen  in  distress  and  terror,  and  looking  with  unutterable 
emotions  for  the  issue  of  the  combat,  have  presented  you  to-day  with  the  sight 
of  its  whole  happy  population,  come  out  to  welcome  and  greet  you  with  a 
universal  jubilee.  Yonder  proud  ships,  by  a  felicity  of  position  appropriately 
lying  at  the  foot  of  this  mount,  and  seeming  fondly  to  cling  around  it,  are  not 
means  of  annoyance  to  you,  but  your  country's  own  means  of  distinction  and 
defence.  All  is  peace;  and  God  has  granted  you  this  sight  of  your  country's 
happiness,  ere  you  slumber  in  the  grave.  He  has  allowed  you  to  behold 
and  to  partake  the  reward  of  your  patriotic  toils;  and  he  has  allowed  us,  your 
sons  and  countrymen,  to  meet  you  here,  and  in  the  name  of  the  present 
generation,  in  the  name  of  your  country,  in  the  name  of  liberty,  to  thank 
you !  .  .  . 

But  ah !  Him  !  the  first  great  martyr  in  this  great  cause  !  Him !  the  pre- 
mature victim  of  his  own  self-devoting  heart !  Him  !  the  head  of  our  civil 
councils,  and  the  destined  leader  of  our  military  bands,  whom  nothing  brought 
hither  but  the  unquenchable  fire  of  his  own  spirit !  Him !  cut  off  by  Provi- 
dence in  the  hour  of  overwhelming  anxiety  and  thick  gloom;  falling  ere  he 
saw  the  star  of  his  country  rise;  pouring  out  his  generous  blood  like  water, 
before  he  knew  whether  it  would  fertilize  a  land  of  freedom  or  of  bondage  !  — 
how  shall  I  struggle  with  the  emotions  that  stifle  the  utterance  of  thy  name ! 
Our  poor  work  may  perish ;  but  thine  shall  endure !  This  monument  may 
moulder  away;  the  solid  ground  it  rests  upon  may  sink  down  to  a  level  with 
the  sea;  but  thy  memory  shall  not  fail !  Wheresoever  among  men  a  heart 
shall  be  found  that  beats  to  the  transports  of  patriotism  and  liberty,  its  aspira- 
tions shall  be  to  claim  kindred  with  thy  spirit !  " 

Of  such  prose  as  this  it  is  to  be  remarked  that  it  cannot  well  be 
manufactured,  as  in  cold  blood ;  to  be  genuine  it  must  be  the 
spontaneous  utterance  of  emotion  and  deep  conviction.  The 
fervid  and  generous  passion,  filling  the  speaker's  heart  and  will, 


PROSE   DICTION.  73 

heightens  and  makes  serviceable  every  endowment  of  taste  and 
fine  literary  instinct,  while  in  turn  the  expression  of  passion  is 
regulated  and  kept  in  bounds  by  them. 

III. 

The  Imaginative  Type. — This  is  a  type  of  prose  diction  in  which 
very  few  have  achieved  eminent  success,  requiring  as  it  does  the 
finest  ear  and  the  most  unfailing  taste  in  the  resources  of  language. 
It  is  the  kind  of  style  that  shapes  itself,  with  more  or  less  artistic 
fitness,  when  the  writer  deals  with  an  imaginative  theme,  and  shapes 
his  conceptions  in  the  fancy  rather  than  in  the  severity  of  logic. 

In  this  kind  of  writing  language  is  used  somewhat  as  a  musical 
instrument,  to  arouse  and  gratify  the  reader's  imagination  by  means 
of  euphonic  sound  and  imagery.  Poetic  resources,  both  of  struc- 
ture and  vocabulary,  are  freely  drawn  upon.  Especially  noticeable 
are  epithet  and  picturesque  language  ;  also  many  of  the  archaic 
and  quaint  forms  of  poetry.  The  tendency  to  rhythm  is  still  more 
marked  than  in  the  impassioned  type,  while  always  harshness  and 
crudeness  in  consecutions  of  sounds  are  avoided. 

Noted  representatives  of  this  kind  of  prose  writing  are  De 
Quincey,  Ruskin,  Jeremy  Taylor,  and  Milton. 

The  following,  from  Ruskin's  "  Stones  of  Venice,"  carries  this  type  of  prose 
to  the  very  verge  of  poetry. 

"We  know  that  gentians  grow  on  the  Alps,  and  olives  on  the  Apennines; 
but  we  do  not  enough  conceive  for  ourselves  that  variegated  mosaic  of  the 
world's  surface  which  a  bird  sees  in  its  migration,  that  difference  between  the 
district  of  the  gentian  and  of  the  olive  which  the  stork  and  the  swallow  see 
far  off,  as  they  lean  upon  the  sirocco  wind.  Let  us,  for  a  moment,  try  to  raise 
ourselves  even  above  the  level  of  their  flight,  and  imagine  the  Mediterranean 
lying  beneath  us  like  an  irregular  lake,  and  all  its  ancient  promontories  sleep- 
ing in  the  sun;  here  and  there  an  angry  spot  of  thunder,  a  grey  stain  of 
storm,  moving  upon  the  burning  field;  and  here  and  there  a  fixed  wreath 
of  white  volcano  smoke,  surrounded  by  its  circle  of  ashes;  but  for  the  most 
part  a  great  peacefulness  of  light,  Syria  and  Greece,  Italy  and  Spain,  laid 
like  pieces  of  golden  pavement  into  the  sea-blue,  chased,  as  we  stoop  nearer 
to  them,  with  bossy  beaten  work  of  mountain  chains,  and  glowing  softly  with 
terraced  gardens,  and  flowers  heavy  with  frankincense,  mixed  among  masses 


74  PROSE  DICTION. 

of  laurel,  and  orange  and  plumy  palm,  that  abate  with  their  grey-green  shadows 
the  burning  of  the  marble  rocks,  and  of  the  ledges  of  porphyry  sloping  under 
lucent  sand.  Then  let  us  pass  farther  towards  the  north,  until  we  see  the 
orient  colors  change  gradually  into  a  vast  belt  of  rainy  green,  where  the  pas- 
tures of  Switzerland,  and  poplar  valleys  of  France,  and  dark  forests  of  the 
Danube  and  Carpathians  stretch  from  the  mouths  of  the  Loire  to  those  of  the 
Volga,  seen  through  clefts  in  grey  swirls  of  rain-cloud  and  flaky  veils  of 
the  mist  of  the  brooks,  spreading  low  along  the  pasture  lands :  and  then, 
farther  north  still,  to  see  the  earth  heave  into  mighty  masses  of  leaden  rock 
and  heathy  moor,  bordering  with  a  broad  waste  of  gloomy  purple  that  belt  of 
field  and  wood,  and  splintering  into  irregular  and  grisly  islands  amidst  the 
northern  seas,  beaten  by  storm  and  chilled  by  ice-drift,  and  tormented  by 
furious  pulses  of  contending  tide,  until  the  roots  of  the  last  forests  fail  from 
among  the  hill  ravines,  and  the  hunger  of  the  north  wind  bites  their  peaks 
into  barrenness;  and,  at  last,  the  wall  of  ice,  durable  like  iron,  sets,  death- 
like, its  white  teeth  against  us  out  of  the  polar  twilight." 

In  this  passage  we  are  aware  at  once  of  the  writer's  somewhat 
daring  incursions  into  the  poetic  realm,  manifest  by  words  and 
structure  alike.  It  may  be  interesting  to  point  out  some  of  these 
characteristics  borrowed  from  poetry.  Notice,  for  instance,  how 
much  is  introduced  for  word-painting  :  — 

"  Promontories  sleeping  in  the  sun  " ;  "a  great  peacefulness  of  light " ;  "the 
hunger  of  the  north  wind ";  "sets  its  white  teeth  against  us";  "grey  sivirls 
of  rain-cloud  yn&  flaky  -veils  of  the  mist  of  the  brooks." 

Epithet :  — 

" Sirocco  wind ";  "ancient  promontories";  "golden  pavement ";  "ter- 
raced gardens  ";  "plumy  palm  ";  "  lucent  sand  ";  "  orient  colors  " ;  "  rainy 
green";  " heathy  moor " ;  " into  the  sea-blue"  All  these  epithets  are  of  the 
decorative  or  descriptive  kind. 

Alliteration :  — 

"A  grey  j/ain  of  tform";  "tossy  beaten  work";  "&tes  their  peaks  into 
barrenness";  "»rixed  a/wong  masses  of  laurel,  and  orange  and  /lumy/alm." 

Rhythm  encroaching  on  metre  :  — 

"  All  its  ancient  promontories 
Sleeping  in  the  sun." 


PROSE  DICTION.  75 

"  Here  and  there  an  angry  spot  of  thunder." 
"  With  bossy  beaten  work  of  mountain  chains." 
"  Spreading  low  along  the  pasture  lands." 
"  By  furious  pulses  of  contending  tide." 

This  type  of  prose  is  so  exceptional,  and  excellence  in  it  is  so 
rare,  that  it  is  adduced  not  so  much  for  imitation  as  for  study.  It 
cannot  be  made  by  rule  and  precept ;  and  the  attempt  to  produce 
it,  unless  a  real  poetic  feeling  compels  it,  results  only  in  artificial 
word-mongery. 

Mixture  and  Alternation  of  Types.  —  In  the  discrimination  of 
the  foregoing  types  of  diction,  it  is  not  meant  that  every  literary 
work  ought  necessarily  to  conform  throughout  to  any  one  type. 
As  matter  of  fact  we  find  many  works  either  of  mixed  type  or 
passing  on  occasion  into  various  types,  according  to  mood  and 
subject-matter.  In  an  oration,  for  instance,  the  prevailing  type  is 
intellectual,  being  due  to  the  effort  to  convey  and  enforce  thought ; 
and  from  this  it  is  direct  and  natural,  as  feeling  becomes  greater, 
to  rise  into  the  language  of  passion.  Much  of  De  Quincey's 
and  Milton's  prose-poetry  represents  a  mingling  of  the  impassioned 
and  the  imaginative. 

The  intellectual  is  the  fundamental  type,  the  others  coming  in 
merely  as  occasional  aids.  Emotion  and  imagination  have  power 
in  prose  style  only  as  they  have  a  basis  of  well-defined  thought ;  if 
they  exist  only  for  themselves,  apart  from  this,  they  are  empty. 

NOTE.  —  In  the  following,  which  is  mostly  in  a  light  conversational  tone, 
and  of  the  simple  intellectual  type,  notice  how  natural  it  is,  when  an  imagina- 
tive description  is  introduced,  to  lapse  into  a  more  flowing  style  and  employ 
epithet  and  picturesque  words.  The  more  imaginative  part  is  enclosed  in 
brackets. 

"  The  attractions  of  this  spot  are  not  numerous.  There  is  surf-bathing  all 
along  the  outer  side  of  the  beach,  and  good  swimming  on  the  inner.  The 
fishing  is  fair;  and  in  still  weather  yachting  is  rather  a  favorite  amusement. 
Further  than  this  there  is  little  to  be  said,  save  that  the  hotel  is  conducted 
upon  liberal  principles,  and  the  society  generally  select. 

But  to  the  lover  of  nature  —  and  who  has  the  courage  to  avow  himself 
aught  else? —  the  sea-shore  can  never  be  monotonous.  [The  swirl  and  sweep 
of  ever-shifting  waters,  the  flying  mist  of  foam  breaking  away  into  a  gray  and 


76  OCCASIONAL  DICTION. 

ghostly  distance  down  the  beach,  the  eternal  drone  of  ocean,  mingling  itself 
with  one's  talk  by  day  and  with  the  light  dance-music  in  the  parlors  by  night 
—  all  these  are  active  sources  of  a  passive  pleasure.  And  to  lie  at  length  upon 
the  tawny  sand,  watching,  through  half-closed  eyes,  the  heaving  waves,  that 
mount  against  a  dark  blue  sky  wherein  great  silvery  masses  of  cloud  float  idly 
on,  whiter  than  the  sunlit  sails  that  fade  and  grow  and  fade  along  the  horizon,] 
while  some  fair  damsel  sits  close  by,  reading  ancient  ballads  of  a  simple  metre, 
or  older  legends  of  love  and  romance  —  tell  me,  my  eater  of  the  fashionable 
lotos,  is  not  this  a  diversion  well  worth  your  having?" 


SECTION  FOURTH. 
DICTION  AS  DETERMINED  BY  OBJECT  AND 

OCCASION. 

THE  foregoing  classification  of  the  types  of  prose  diction  has 
contemplated  diction  as  it  answers  to  the  subject-matter  and  the 
writer's  correspondent  mood.  It  remains  now  to  consider  what 
characteristics  diction,  of  whatever  type,  must  take,  in  the  writer's 
effort  to  adapt  himself  to  his  readers  or  hearers ;  that  is,  how  dic- 
tion is  made  to  answer  most  effectually  to  its  object  and  occasion. 

I. 

The  Diction  of  Spoken  Discourse.  —  The  standard  with  which 
all  writing  begins  is  naturally  and  properly  the  spoken  word. 
Write  as  you  would  speak,  is  the  safe  universal  rule.  That  is,  aim 
at  something  of  the  directness,  the  simplicity  of  structure,  the  life, 
that  belong  ideally  to  conversation.  If  too  great  departure  is 
made  from  this  standard,  the  style  becomes  either  pedantic  or 
weakly  sentimental.  In  no  way  can  the  writer  better  promote 
clearness  and  straight-forwardness  of  style  than  by  keeping  con- 
stantly in  mind  what  are  the  needs  and  capacities  of  an  audience. 

But  while  in  general  this  is  true,  the  circumstances  of  spoken 
discourse  make  some  characteristics  imperative,  which  written 
discourse  in  its  different  circumstances  may  treat  with  more  free- 


OCCASIONAL  DICTION.  77 

dom,  and  at  the  same  time  grant  some  liberties  denied  to  written 
discourse.  What  these  are  may  be  gathered  from  the  occasion 
and  requirements  of  an  ordinary  conversation. 

1.  The  speaker  must  make  his  meaning  intelligible  at  once, 
must  arrest  the  attention  and  arouse  the  interest  of  his  audience 
from  the  outset  of  his  discourse ;  otherwise  the  object  is  lost  alto- 
gether.    Hence,  the  sentences,  or  at  least  the  different  members 
and  masses  of  the  thought,  need  to  be  short  and  direct;    the 
points  of  emphasis  need  to  be  strongly  marked ;  and  often  some 
pointed   manner  of  expression,  such  as  antithesis,  epigram,  or 
striking  metaphor,  may  be  employed  to  bring  the  thought  out  in 
stronger  relief. 

2.  The  speaker  needs  to  be  more  careful  than  the  writer  to 
repeat  important  thoughts  in  different  terms,  or,  as  is  often  nec- 
essary, in  identical  terms.     The  matter  of  spoken  discourse  is 
generally  such  thought  as  needs  to  be  not  only  made  clear  but 
enforced ;   and  both  these  requirements  make  it  important  that 
the  main  points  be  reiterated,  held  up  in  different  lights,  subjected 
to  various  illustrations  and  elucidations,  until  they  have  impressed 
themselves  on  the  mind  of  every  hearer. 

3.  Spoken  discourse  will  bear  to  be  more  irregular  and  abrupt 
than  written ;  declarative  sentences  are  interspersed  more  freely 
with  exclamatory  and  interrogative ;  trains  of  thought  are  some- 
times introduced  suggestively,  and  broken  off  for  the  hearer  to 
finish.     The  speaker  can  safelier  leave  his  style  less  finished,  be- 
cause he  has  all  the  advantage  of  gesture,  expression  of  counte- 
nance, and  modulation  of  voice,  to  supplement  it. 

4.  Often  also  a  slight  sacrifice  of  literal  truth  to  vividness  —  in 
other  words,  a  somewhat  sweeping  or  exaggerated  expression  — 
is  quite  admissible  in  spoken  discourse,  and  not  misleading,  be- 
cause this  want  of  exactness  easily  corrects  itself  in  the  occasion 
and  circumstances.     Whatever  is  more  than  strict  truth  the  hearer 
naturally  adjusts  to  the  score  of  emotion.     By  this  is  not  meant 
that  the  choice  of  expression  in  speech  may  be  less  careful  and 
calculated  than  in  writing ;  a  bungling  inaccuracy  is  inadmissible 


78  OCCASIONAL  DICTION. 

anywhere ;  but  inasmuch  as  the  choice  is  determined  by  the 
double  requirement  of  clearness  and  vividness,  the  latter  quality 
may  operate  to  transcend  accuracy  in  simply  the  one  direction  of 
intensity. 

The  following,  from  Charles  James  Fox,  will  illustrate  very  strikingly  the 
impetuous,  irregular  nature  of  extemporaneous  speech. 

"  We  must  keep  Bonaparte  for  some  time  longer  at  war,  as  a  state  of  pro- 
bation! Gracious  God,  sir,  is  war  a  state  of  probation?  Is  peace  a  rash  sys- 
tem? Is  it  dangerous  for  nations  to  live  in  amity  with  each  other?  Are  your 
vigilance,  your  policy,  your  common  powers  of  observation,  to  be  extinguished 
by  putting  an  end  to  the  horrors  of  war?  Cannot  this  state  of  probation  be  as 
well  undergone  without  adding  to  the  catalogue  of  human  sufferings?  But  we 
must  pause!  What !  must  the  bowels  of  Great  Britain  be  torn  out,  her  best 
blood  spilt,  her  treasure  wasted,  that  you  may  make  an  experiment?  Put  your- 
selves —  oh,  that  you  would  put  yourselves  in  the  field  of  battle,  and  learn  to 
judge  of  the  sort  of  horrors  that  you  excite  !  In  former  wars  a  man  might  at 
least  have  some  feeling,  some  interest,  that  served  to  balance  in  his  mind  the 
impressions  which  a  scene  of  carnage  and  of  death  must  inflict.  If  a  man  had 
been  present  at  the  battle  of  Blenheim,  for  instance,  and  had  inquired  the 
motive  of  the  battle,  there  was  not  a  soldier  engaged  who  could  not  have  sat- 
isfied his  curiosity,  and  even  perhaps  allayed  his  feelings  —  they  were  fighting 
to  repress  the  uncontrolled  ambition  of  the  Grand  Monarque.  But  if  a  man 
were  present  now  at  a  field  of  slaughter,  and  were  to  inquire  for  what  they 
were  fighting,  'Fighting?'  would  be  the  answer,  'they  are  not  fighting,  they 
are  pausing?  'Why  is  that  man  expiring?  Why  is  that  other  writhing  in 
agony  ?  What  means  this  implacable  fury  ? '  The  answer  must  be,  '  You  are 
quite  wrong,  sir;  you  deceive  yourself.  They  are  not  fighting.  Do  not  disturb 
them;  they  are  merely  pausing.  This  man  is  not  expiring  with  agony,  that  man 
is  not  dead :  he  is  only  pausing !  They  are  not  angry  with  one  another :  they 
have  now  no  cause  of  quarrel;  but  their  country  thinks  there  should  be  a 
pause.  All  that  you  see,  sir,  is  nothing  like  fighting :  there  is  no  harm,  nor 
cruelty,  nor  bloodshed  in  it  whatever;  it  is  nothing  more  than  a  political  pause! 
It  is  merely  to  try  an  experiment,  to  see  whether  Bonaparte  will  not  behave 
himself  better  than  heretofore;  and  in  the  meantime  we  have  agreed  to  a 
pause  in  pure  friendship ! '  And  is  this  the  way,  sir,  that  you  are  to  show 
yourselves  the  advocates  of  order?  You  take  up  a  system  calculated  to  unciv- 
ilize  the  world,  to  trample  on  religion,  to  stifle  in  the  heart  not  merely  the 
generosity  of  noble  sentiment,  but  the  affections  of  social  nature,  and  in 
the  prosecution  of  this  system  you  spread  terror  and  desolation  around 
you." 


OCCASIONAL  DICTION.  79 

Discourse  written  for  Public  Delivery. — Although  the  ideal 
of  spoken  discourse  is  that  its  expression  be  extemporaneous,  a 
large  proportion  of  such  discourse  is,  and  will  continue  to  be, 
written  and  read  or  recited  in  public.  With  some  literary  tasks, 
as  for  instance  public  lectures,  this  is  indeed  almost  a  necessity ; 
and  doubtless  the  temperament  and  habits  of  thought  of  a  great 
many  public  speakers  are  such  that  they  can  represent  themselves 
better  by  written  and  read  discourse  than  by  purely  extemporane- 
ous utterance. 

The  chief  motive  for  writing  a  spoken  discourse  in  full  before- 
hand is  thus  expressed  by  Ruskin  in  one  of  his  lectures  on  art : 
"  Do  not  think  I  am  speaking  under  excited  feelings,  or  in  any 
exaggerated  terms.  I  have  written  the  words  I  use,  that  I  may 
know  what  I  say,  and  that  you,  if  you  choose,  may  see  what  I  have 
said." 

The  thing  most  necessary  to  be  remembered,  and  yet  oftenest 
disregarded,  in  such  writing,  is,  that  it  must  subject  itself  unre- 
servedly to  the  standard  of  spoken  discourse.  The  quiet  mood  of 
the  writer  in  his  study  must,  be  conquered  and  replaced  by  the 
vigorous  mood  of  the  orator  in  the  presence  of  his  audience.  Sen- 
tences must  be  simple  and  pointed  ;  the  distance  between  pauses 
should  be  short ;  and  the  hearer  should  not  be  made  to  carry  a 
burden  of  thought  in  mind  waiting  for  its  result  or  application. 
The  same  need  exists  for  judicious  repetition  as  in  purely  spoken 
discourse.  Irregularities  of  style,  and  especially  the  exaggeration 
due  to  intensity,  are  naturally  considerably  toned  down ;  for  the 
audience,  seeing  the  writer's  manuscript  before  him,  will  uncon- 
sciously require  of  him  the  well-considered  utterance  of  written 
discourse. 

The  following,  from  one  of  Cardinal  Newman's  sermons,  well  illustrates  the 
simplicity,  the  directness,  the  skillful  repetition  and  amplification  of  thought 
necessary,  that  a  hearer  may  receive  and  understand  it  at  one  hearing. 

"  There  are  two  worlds,  '  the  visible  and  the  invisible,'  as  the  Creed  speaks, 
—  the  world  we  see,  and  the  world  we  do  not  see;  and  the  world  which  we 
do  not  see  as  really  exists  as  the  world  we  do  see.  It  really  exists,  though  we 


80  OCCASIONAL   DICTION. 

see  it  not.  The  world  that  we  see  we  know  to  exist,  because  we  see  it.  We 
have  but  to  lift  up  our  eyes  and  look  around  us,  and  we  have  proof  of  it :  our 
eyes  tell  us.  We  see  the  sun,  moon  and  stars,  earth  and  sky,  hills  and  valleys, 
woods  and  plains,  seas  and  rivers.  And  again,  we  see  men,  and  the  works  uf 
men.  We  see  cities,  and  stately  buildings,  and  their  inhabitants;  men  running 
to  and  fro,  and  busying  themselves  to  provide  for  themselves  and  their  fami- 
lies, or  to  accomplish  great  designs,  or  for  the  very  business'  sake.  All  that 
meets  our  eyes  forms  one  world.  It  is  an  immense  world;  it  reaches  to  the 
stars.  Thousands  on  thousands  of  years  might  we  speed  up  the  sky,  and 
though  we  were  swifter  than  the  light  itself,  we  should  not  reach  them  all. 
They  are  at  distances  from  us  greater  than  any  that  is  assignable.  So  high,  so 
wide,  so  deep  is  the  world;  and  yet  it  also  comes  near  and  close  to  us.  It  is 
everywhere;  and  it  seems  to  leave  no  room  for  any  other  world. 

And  yet  in  spite  of  this  universal  world  which  we  see,  there  is  another 
world,  quite  as  far-spreading,  quite  as  close  to  us,  and  more  wonderful ;  another 
world  all  around  us,  though  we  see  it  not,  and  more  wonderful  than  the  world 
we  see,  for  this  reason  if  for  no  other,  that  we  do  not  see  it.  All  around  us 
are  numberless  objects,  coming  and  going,  watching,  working  or  waiting, 
which  we  see  not:  this  is  that  other  world,  which  the  eyes  reach  not  unto,  but 
faith  only." 

II. 

The  Diction  of  Written  Discourse.  —  Three  characteristics,  in 
which  writing  differs  from  spoken  discourse,  may  here  be  named. 

1.  It  must  be  more  exact  than  speech.     The  words    chosen 
must  express  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  thought ;  and  often 
statements  must  be  guarded  and  qualified  in  order  to  be  kept  safe 
within  the  bounds  of  truth  ;  for  the  writer  needs  to  say  only  what 
he  can  stand  by,  having  no  opportunity  of  oral  explanation  or 
correction. 

2.  It  must  be  less  unguarded  and  elliptical  than  speech.     It  is 
more  sparing  in  the  use  of  such  contractions  as  don't,  can't,  ifs  for 
it  is,  he's  for  he  is,  /'//  for  I  will,  and  the  like.     It  must  often  be 
scrupulous  in  supplying  particles  where  conversation  is  freer  to 
omit  them  ;  as,  "  At  what  hour  will  the  train  start?  "     It  must  also 
discard  many  of  the  short,  elliptical,  inexact  phrases  used  in  speech. 

3.  Writing  is  less  varied  in  construction,  and  at  the  same  time 
more  complex,  than  speech.     Less  varied,  because  it  must  keep, 


OCCASIONAL  DICTION.  81 

for  the  most  part,  to  one  tone  of  discourse ;  hence  interrogation, 
exclamation,  and  other  means  of  variety  and  vividness,  are  less 
natural  to  writing.  More  complex,  because  suspensive  structure, 
long  sentences,  and  involved  modifications  of  the  thought,  can  be 
more  safely  employed,  since  the  written  or  printed  page  is  there,  to 
be  studied  at  leisure. 

NOTE.  —  Such  a  long-jointed  sentence  as  the  following  from  Dickens,  would 
be  intolerable  in  spoken  discourse  ;  the  speaker  would  be  constantly  out  of 
breath  between  pauses,  to  say  nothing  of  the  involutions  of  clauses  and 
phrases. 

"  The  storm  had  long  given  place  to  a  calm  the  most  profound,  and  the 
evening  was  pretty  far  advanced  —  indeed  supper  was  over,  and  the  process  of 
digestion  proceeding  as  favorably  as,  under  the  influence  of  complete  tran- 
quility,  cheerful  conversation,  and  a  moderate  allowance  of  brandy  and  water, 
most  wise  men  conversant  with  the  anatomy  and  functions  of  the  human  frame 
will  consider  that  it  ought  to  have  proceeded,  when  the  three  friends,  or  as 
one  might  say,  both  in  a  civil  and  religious  sense,  and  with  proper  deference 
and  regard  to  the  holy  state  of  matrimony,  the  two  friends  (Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Browdie  counting  as  no  more  than  one),  were  startled  by  the  noise  of  loud  and 
angry  threatenings  below  stairs,  which  presently  attained  so  high  a  pitch,  and 
were  conveyed  besides  in  language  so  towering,  sanguinary  and  ferocious,  that 
it  could  hardly  have  been  surpassed,  if  there  had  actually  been  a  Saracen's 
head  then  present  in  the  establishment,  supported  on  the  shoulders  and  sur- 
mounting the  trunk  of  a  real,  live,  furious,  and  most  unappeasable  Saracen." 

Some  great  writers,  notably  Burke,  have  contemned  the  idea  of 
any  difference  between  spoken  and  written  diction,  and  maintain 
that  everything  written  should  conform  to  the  standard  of  speech. 
But  it  must  be  remembered  that  Burke's  speech,  being  the  utterance 
of  an  extraordinary  mind,  is  hardly  to  be  taken  as  the  representa- 
tive of  average  speech  ;  and  further,  that  the  acknowledged  defect 
of  his  great  addresses  lay  precisely  in  the  fact  that  they  were  too 
much  like  written  discourse  ;  they  exacted  so  much  thought  and 
were  so  rich  in  imagery  that  they  were  heard  with  comparative 
indifference,  while  in  their  printed  form  they  became  English 
classics.  It  would  have  been  better,  therefore,  at  least  for  his 
immediate  purposes,  if  Burke  had  been  more  observant  of  the  lib- 
erties and  limits  of  the  two  kinds  of  discourse. 


82  OCCASIONAL  DICTION. 

But  while  as  matter  of  fact  there  are  real  differences  between 
writing  and  speech,  it  is  precarious  for  the  writer  to  count  on  them 
so  far  as  to  excuse  negligence  in  his  written  style.  He  needs  to 
keep  careful  and  constant  watch  over  the  life  and  interest  of  his 
diction ;  for  if  it  becomes  pedantic  or  over-involved,  the  reason  is 
likely  to  be  that  he  has  unconsciously  surrendered  himself  too 
freely  to  the  liberties  of  his  pen,  and  needs  simply  to  turn  anew 
toward  the  standard  of  the  spoken  word. 

III. 

Antique,  Foreign,  Colloquial,  and  Dialect  Diction.  —  Of  these 
irregular  varieties  of  diction  the  details  must  be  left,  of  course,  to 
the  writers  who  make  them  a  specialty,  inasmuch  as  each  writer 
must  for  the  most  part  make  the  laws  that  he  observes.  A  word 
may  be  said,  however,  concerning  the  universal  principle  that  con- 
ditions such  work. 

In  work  of  this  kind  two  features  are  to  be  observed  and  recon- 
ciled with  each  other.  First,  there  must  be  faithfulness  to  the 
usage  portrayed  ;  and  this  is  maintained  not  by  the  employment  of 
catch-words  and  tricks  of  style,  but  only  by  thorough  absorption  of 
the  thought  and  spirit  of  the  age,  people,  or  language  with  which 
the  style  is  connected.  But  secondly,  this  faithful  representation 
must  be  modified  by  the  claims  of  present  intelligibility ;  a  literary 
art  must  be  superimposed  which  shall  make  the  style  readable  in 
this  day  and  land.  Literary  reproductions  of  this  kind,  therefore, 
are  not  absolute  but  relative ;  they  must  be  toned  down  for  the  use 
of  average  readers. 

A  similar  reconciliation  of  opposing  claims  must  be  made  in 
constructing  or  reporting  dialogue.  On  this  point  the  words  of 
Anthony  Trollope,  describing  his  own  art,  may  perhaps  best  be 
quoted.1  "The  ordinary  talk  of  ordinary  people,"  he  says,  "is 
carried  on  in  short,  sharp,  expressive  sentences,  which,  very  fre- 
quently, are  never  completed,  the  language  of  which,  even  among 

1  Anthony  Trollope's  Autobiography,  p.  216. 


OCCASIONAL  DICTION.  83 

educated  people,  is  often  incorrect.  The  novel-writer,  in  con- 
structing his  dialogue,  must  so  steer  between  absolute  accuracy 
of  language  —  which  would  give  to  his  conversation  an  air  of 
pedantry  —  and  the  slovenly  inaccuracy  of  ordinary  talkers  — 
which,  if  closely  followed,  would  offend  by  an  appearance  of 
grimace  —  as  to  produce  upon  the  ear  of  his  readers  a  sense  of 
reality.  If  he  be  quite  real,  he  will  seem  to  attempt  to  be  funny. 
If  he  be  quite  correct,  he  will  seem  to  be  unreal.  ...  In  all 
this,"  he  says  a  little  farther  on,  "  human  nature  must  be  the  novel- 
writer's  guide.  But  in  following  human  nature  he  must  remember 
that  he  does  so  with  a  pen  in  his  hand,  and  that  the  reader  who 
will  appreciate  human  nature  will  also  demand  artistic  ability  and 
literary  aptitude." 

IV. 

Maintenance  of  the  Tone  of  Discourse. — This  is  a  point  of 
great  importance,  and  calls  for  the  constant  exercise  of  a  culti- 
vated taste.  Every  literary  work  strikes  a  certain  keynote, 
elevated  or  colloquial  or  humorous  or  severe ;  and  while  it  is 
often  an  elegance  and  advantage  to  rise  on  occasion  into  a  higher 
strain,  it  is  unfortunate  to  fall  unadvisedly  below  the  adopted 
standard.  This  is  most  noticeable,  perhaps,  when  prosaic  words 
and  turns  of  expression  occur  in  a  passage  of  poetry.  "  Prose  on 
certain  occasions,"  says  Landor,  "  can  bear  a  great  deal  of  poetry : 
on  the  other  hand,  poetry  sinks  and  swoons  under  a  moderate 
weight  of  prose."  So  also  the  sudden  appearance  of  a  slang  or 
colloquial  expression  in  a  severe  discourse,  or  of  a  commonplace 
passage  in  a  sublime  j discourse,  produces  an  effect  as  of  a  flatted 
note  in  music,  difficult  to  describe  in  words  but  instantly  felt  by 
every  cultivated  reader. 

NOTE.  —  In  the  following  stanza  of  poetry,  we  feel  the  decidedly  prosaic 
tone  of  the  italicized  lines,  as  compared  with  the  rest :  — 
"  So  from  the  sunshine  and  the  green  of  love, 

We  enter  on  our  story's  darker  part ; 
And,  though  the  horror  of  it  well  may  move 
An  impulse  of  repugnance  in  the  heart, 


84  OCCASIONAL  DICTION. 

Yet  let  us  think,  that,  as  there's  naught  abore 

The  all-embracing  atmosphere  of  Art, 
So  also  there  is  naught  that  falls  below 
Her  generous  reach,  though  grimed  with  guilt  and  woe." 

So  in  the  following  passage  the  objection  to  the  italicized  words  is  not  that 
they  are  incorrect,  but  that  they  fall  below  the  level  of  the  rest  of  the  pas- 
sage: "The  task  was  indeed  mighty,  but  Luther  was  a  giant  among  men. 
Nor  was  his  fatherland  entirely  out  of  sorts.  The  life-lessons  of  Wyckliffe 
and  Huss  had  not  been  lost." 

A  few  years  ago  a  very  amusing  little  biography,  written  in  English  by  a 
native  Hindostanee,  was  published  in  Calcutta;  and  the  most  ludicrous  faults 
in  its  style  were  due  to  the  fact  that  the  writer,  having  obtained  all  his  words 
from  a  dictionary,  had  no  sense  of  the  difference  of  tone  and  spirit  in  different 
expressions.  Words,  idioms,  proverbial  expressions  belonging  to  the  most 
curiously  discordant  strata  of  thought  were  jumbled  together.  The  following 
two  or  three  sentences  will  illustrate  this.  "  His  first  business,  on  making  an 
income  was  to  extricate  his  family  from  the  difficulties  in  which  it  had  been 
lately  enwrapped,  and  to  restore  happiness  and  sunshine  to  those  sweet  and 
well-beloved  faces  on  which  he  had  not  seen  the  soft  and  fascinating  beams 
of  a  simper  for  many  a  grim-visaged  year."  "  It  was  all  along  the  case,  and  it 
is  so  up  to  this  time  with  the  Lieutenant  Governors,  to  give  seats  to  non-pro- 
fessional men  (who  are  or  were  as  if  cocks  of  the  roost,  or  in  other  words,  Na- 
tives of  high  social  status)  in  the  Council."  "  He  then  came  in  his  chamber 
to  take  his  wonted  tiffin,  and  felt  a  slight  headache,  which  gradually  aggra- 
vated and  became  so  uncontrollable  that  he  felt  like  a  toad  under  a  harrow." 


FIGURES   OF  SPEECH.  85 


CHAPTER   III. 

FIGURES   OF   SPEECH. 

Definition.  —  A  figure  of  speech  is  an  intentional  deviation 
from  the  plain  and  ordinary  mode  of  speaking,  for  the  sake  of 
greater  effect. 

The  fact  that  figurative  language  deviates  from  ordinary  expres- 
sion is  not  to  be  taken  as  an  argument  against  its  naturalness.  It 
is  just  as  spontaneous  and  artless  in  its  place  as  any  manner  of 
speaking,  for  cultured  and  uncultured  alike ;  being  the  natural 
result  of  the  effort  to  illustrate  and  vivify  what  the  writer  or  speaker 
has  to  communicate. 

Nor  are  figures  of  speech  to  be  reckoned  as  mere  ornaments 
of  discourse.  They  generally  add  beauty  to  the  style,  it  is  true ; 
but  if  they  are  introduced  for  no  other  object  than  this,  especially 
in  prose  discourse,  the  employment  of  them  is  a  blemish.  The 
same  rule  holds  with  them  as  with  other  embellishments  of  style  : 
nothing  is  really  an  embellishment  except  as  it  is  useful  toward 
effecting  the  purpose  of  the  discourse,  —  that  is,  in  making  the 
thought  conveyed  more  clear  or  vivid  or  emphatic. 

I. 

General  Suggestions  regarding  the  Use  of  Figurative  Lan- 
guage. —  As  to  the  use  of  figures  in  general  the  following  cautions 
are  to  be  noted. 

i.  It  is  to  be  borne  in  mind  that  figures  of  speech  are  not  the 
real  thought,  but  only  helpers  to  the  thought.  The  substance  of 
the  discourse,  its  leading  ideas,  must  exist  and  be  clearly  brought 
out  apart  from  them ;  then,  if  they  are  once  introduced,  they 
fulfil  their  proper  subordinated  office. 


86  FIGURES  OF  SPEECH. 

2.  A  preliminary  question  often  to  be  determined,  therefore, 
is,  whether  in  any  passage  the  thought  will  profit  by  figurative 
expression,  or  will  stand  better  without  it.      For  sometimes  an 
idea  is  so  palpable  in  itself  that  a  figurative  illustration  would  be 
only  an  impertinence ;  sometimes  also  a  thought,  especially  if  it 
is  one  on  which  much  of  the  discourse  depends,  needs  to  be  put 
as  barely  and  plainly  as  possible.    This  is  particularly  to  be  heeded 
in  argumentative  discourse,  in  which  not  infrequently  figures  are 
mistaken  for  arguments,  whereas  they  can  never  be   more  than 
illustrations  of  arguments. 

3.  Care  should  be  taken  that  the  figure  be  a  real  illustration  of 
the  thought,  not  a  mere  effort  of  the  fancy.     It  is  a  blemish  if  its 
use  is  not  obvious,  or  if  it  is  far-fetched,  or  if  it  diverts  attention 
to  itself  apart  from  its  conditioning  thought.     A  good  test  of  a 
figure's  usefulness  is  its  naturalness  ;  it  ought  to  rise  spontaneously 
out  of  the  subject,  as  if  it  were  the  one  necessary  form  of  expres- 
sion.    This  ideal  can  be  attained  only  by  earnest  effort  to  give 
power  to  the  thought. 

NOTE.  —  In  the  character  of  King  Richard  II.  Shakespeare  portrays  a  ten- 
dency to  manufacture  far-fetched  and  elaborate  conceits,  as  a  mere  play  of 
fancy,  and  not  from  any  necessity  of  the  subjects  about  which  he  is  speaking. 
Sometimes  the  King  finds  his  problem  too  hard  for  him :  — 

"  I  have  been  studying  how  I  may  compare 
This  prison  where  I  live  unto  the  world : 
And  for  because  the  world  is  populous. 
And  here  is  not  a  creature  but  myself, 
I  cannot  do  it ;  yet  I'll  hammer  it  out" 

Effective  and  practical  figures  of  speech  are  not  apt  to  be  the  result  of  a 
"  hammering-out "  process. 

4.  A  figure  of  speech  once  introduced  may  lose  its  power  by 
being  too  labored,  or  carried  too  much  into  detail.     Beyond  a 
certain  point,  of  which  in  any  case  the  writer's  judgment  and  good 
taste  must  be  aware,  it  ceases  to  carry  useful  significance  and 
becomes  fantastic,  artificial,  a  conceit ;  or  else  so  elaborate  that 
the  reader  can  no  longer  carry  it  and  its  illustrated  thought  together. 


FIGURES   OF  SPEECH.  87 

NOTE. — Dr.  E.  A.  Abbott,  in  his  "Shakespearian  Grammar,"  thus  exem- 
plifies this  point :  "  Every  additional  detail  increases  the  improbability  that 
the  correspondence  of  the  whole  comparison  can  be  sustained.  Thus,  if  King 
Richard  (Rich.  II.  v.  5.  50)  had  been  content,  while  musing  on  the  manner 
in  which  he  could  count  time  by  his  sighs,  to  say  — 

'  For  now  hath  Time  made  me  his  numbering  clock,' 

there  would  have  been  little  or  no  offense  against  taste.  But  when  he  con- 
tinues— • 

'My  thoughts  are  minutes,  and  with  sighs  they  jar 

Their  watches  on  unto  mine  eyes,  the  outward  watch, 

Whereto  my  finger,  like  a  dial's  point, 

Is  pointing  still,  in  cleansing  them  from  tears. 

Now,  sir,  the  sound  that  tells  what  hour  it  is 

Are  clamorous  groans  which  strike  upon  my  heart, 

Which  is  the  bell'  — 

we  have  an  excess  of  detail  which  is  only  justified  because  it  illustrates  the 
character  of  one  who  is  always  '  studying  to  compare,'  and  '  hammering  out ' 
unnatural  comparisons." 

II. 

Classification  and  Description  of  the  Most  Important  Figures 
of  Speech. — As  according  to  the  above  definition  figures  are 
employed  for  the  sake  of  greater  effect,  the  most  practical  classi- 
fication for  the  present  purpose  is  according  to  the  effect  they  are 
adapted  to  produce.  On  this  basis  the  figures  here  defined  fall 
naturally  into  two  classes :  figures  that  promote  clearness  and 
concreteness,  and  figures  that  promote  emphasis. 

I.   FIGURES  THAT  PROMOTE  CLEARNESS  AND  CONCRETENESS. 

Principle  of  this  Class. — A  figure  of  speech  promotes  clear- 
ness or  concreteness  by  associating  the  object  of  thought  with 
some  other  object,  so  that  either  by  what  is  associated  or  by  the 
simple  juxtaposition  the  thought  gains.  And  thus  the  gain  may 
be  in  clearness,  when  the  associated  object  is  something  better 
known ;  or  in  concreteness,  when  the  associated  object  is  less 
abstract  and  general,  more  impressive  to  the  senses.  Both  of 
these  qualities  are  usually  present,  in  varying  proportions ;  and 


88  FIGURES  OF  SPEECH. 

sometimes  the  choice  between  figures,  especially  between  simile 
and  metaphor,  is  determined  by  the  question  which  shall  predomi- 
nate, clearness  or  concreteness,  for  the  effectiveness  of  the  passage. 

The  following  are  the  most  important  figures  of  this  class,  ar- 
ranged progressively,  beginning  with  the  simplest. 

Synecdoche  and  Metonymy. — The  most  elementary  associa- 
tion is  made  by  naming,  not  the  whole  object,  but  the  part  or 
accompaniment  of  it  which  is  of  significance  for  the  writer's  pur- 
pose. This  gives  rise  to  the  figures  synecdoche  and  metonymy, 
which,  because  they  are  essentially  alike  in  principle,  are  here 
described  together.  Synecdoche  lets  some  striking  part  of  an  ob- 
ject stand  for  the  whole,  or,  less  frequently,  the  whole  for  a  part. 
Metonymy  names,  not  the  object,  but  some  aspect  or  accompani- 
ment of  it  so  closely  related  in  idea  as  to  be  naturally  interchange- 
able with  it. 

These  figures,  using  as  they  do  merely  the  significant  or  service- 
able feature  of  an  object,  promote  concreteness  by  choosing  what 
is  most  evident  to  the  senses,  or  clearness  by  choosing  what  most 
strongly  impresses  the  mind. 

EXAMPLES.  —  These  figures,  and  the  advantage  flowing  from  them,  may 
perhaps  best  be  exemplified  from  Herbert  Spencer's  "  Philosophy  of  Style." 

Synecdoche.  "  The  advantage  sometimes  gained  by  putting  a  part  for  the 
whole,  is  due  to  the  more  convenient,  or  more  accurate,  presentation  of  the 
idea.  If,  instead  of  saying  'a  fleet  of  ten  ships,'  we  say  'a  fleet  of  ten  sail,1 
the  picture  of  a  group  of  vessels  at  sea  is  more  readily  suggested;  and  is  so 
because  the  sails  constitute  the  most  conspicuous  parts  of  vessels  so  circum- 
stanced :  whereas  the  word  ships  would  very  likely  remind  us  of  vessels  in 
dock.  Again,  to  say,  'All  hands  to  the  pumps,'  is  better  than  to  say,  'All  men 
to  the  pumps ' ;  as  it  suggests  the  men  in  the  special  attitude  intended,  and  so 
saves  effort.  Bringing  'gray  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave,'  is  another  ex- 
pression, the  effect  of  which  has  the  same  cause." 

Metonymy.  '"The  low  morality  of  the  bar?  is  a  phrase  both  more  brief 
and  more  significant  than  the  literal  one  it  stands  for.  A  belief  in  the  ulti- 
mate supremacy  of  intelligence  over  brute  force,  is  conveyed  in  a  more  con- 
crete, and  therefore  more  realizable  form,  if  we  substitute  the  pen  and  the 
sword  for  the  two  abstract  terms.  To  say, '  Beware  of  drinking ! '  is  less  effec- 
tive than  to  say, '  Beware  of  the  bottle  ! '  and  is  so,  clearly  because  it  calls  up 
a  less  specific  image." 


FIGURES   OF  SPEECH.  89 

Simile.  — The  readiest  means  of  illustrating  an  object  or  action 
is  by  representing  it  as  like  something  else.  When  such  com- 
parison, made  between  objects  of  different  classes,  is  definitely 
expressed,  it  is  called  a  Simile,  —  which  word  is  simply  the  neuter 
singular  of  the  Latin  adjective  similis,  like.  The  comparison  is 
oftenest  denoted  by  the  word  like  ;  but  as,  so,  just  as,  similar  to, 
and  many  more  expressions,  may  be  used  for  the  purpose ;  and 
sometimes  the  formal  term  of  comparison  may  be  omitted. 

EXAMPLES. —  i.  Similes  definitely  introduced.  "He  shall  be  like  a  tree, 
planted  by  the  rivers  of  water."  —  "  Of  the  two  kinds  of  composition  into 
which  history  has  been  thus  divided,  the  one  may  be  compared  to  a  map,  the 
other  to  a  painted  landscape."  —  "  She  told  me  her  story  once;  it  was  as  if 
a  grain  of  corn  that  had  been  ground  and  bolted  had  tried  to  individualize  it- 
self by  a  special  narrative."  —  "  His  (Lord  Bacon's)  understanding  resembled 
the  tent  which  the  fairy  Paribanou  gave  to  Prince  Ahmed.  Fold  it;  and  it 
seemed  a  toy  for  the  hand  of  a  lady.  Spread  it;  and  the  armies  of  powerful 
Sultans  might  repose  beneath  its  shade." 

2.  Similes  without  comparing  word.  "  Too  much  indulgence  doe's  not 
strengthen  the  mind  of  the  young;  plants  raised  with  tenderness  are  seldom 
strong."  —  "Of  course  a  poet  must  represent  his  age  and  habitat;  a  Grecian 
temple  beside  an  Alleghanian  trout-brook  might  be  lovely,  but  surely  would 
be  out  of  place  and  date." 

From  these  examples  it  will  be  seen  that  what  makes  a  simile  is  its  princi- 
ple of  comparison,  and  not  its  mere  external  mark. 

Two  or  three  additional  remarks  need  to  be  made  about  this 
figure  of  speech. 

1.  There  are  comparisons  which  are  not  called  similes,  nor  are 
they  counted  as  figures  of  speech.     To  be  a  simile,  the  comparison, 
as  intimated  above,  must  be  between  objects  of  different  classes. 
Thus,  to  compare  a  chariot-race  with  a  boat-race,  events  of  the 
same  class,  is  no  simile,  such  as  we  see  when,  in  the  Bible,  chariots 
are  said  to  "  run  like  the  lightnings."     It  is  the  actual  likeness 
deduced  from  essential  unlikeness  that  makes  the  figure. 

2.  Simile,  being  the  great  illustrative  figure,  is  especially  adapted 
to  promote   clearness   of  thought  and  expression;    not   so   well 
adapted  to  force  and  passion.     Hence  it  is  more  naturally  used  in 
the  less  emotional  kinds  of  discourse.    When  men  are  under  strong 


90  FIGURES  OF  SPEECH. 

emotion  they  are  not  likely  to  indulge  in  comparisons  ;  they  strike 
at  once  for  the  more  trenchant  metaphor.  On  the  other  hand, 
imaginative  prose,  as  also  poetry,  is  very  congenial  to  simile.  The 
reason  is  obvious  :  simile,  presenting  as  it  does  a  kind  of  pictured 
illustration  of  the  thought,  supplies  pleasing  material  for  the  im- 
agination to  dwell  upon. 

3.  The  spirit  of  a  passage  illustrated  by  simile  is  often  indicated 
by  the  object  to  which  comparison  is  made.  Thus  there  are 
elevating  similes,  degrading  similes,  humorous  similes,  and  the 
like ;  which  serve,  by  the  delicate  turn  suggested  in  the  figure,  to 
indicate  the  feeling  with  which  the  writer  regards  the  object. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  following  will  illustrate  how  a  certain  spirit  may  be  im- 
parted to  a  passage  by  the  kind  of  comparison  made. 

1.  Simile  of  sublimity  (from  Milton)  :  — 

"  On  the  other  side,  Satan,  alarmed, 
Collecting  all  his  might,  dilated  stood, 
Like  Teneriff  or  Atlas,  unremoved: 
His  stature  reached  the  sky,  and  on  his  crest 
Sat  Horror  plumed." 

2.  Disparaging  simile  (from  Ruskin)  :  "  We  have  got  into  the  way,  among 
other  modern  wretchednesses,  of  trying  to  make  windows  of  leaf  diapers,  and 
of  strips  of  twisted  red  and  yellow  bands,  looking  like  the  patterns  of  currant 
jelly  on  the  top  of  Christmas  cakes  ;  but  every  casement  of  old  glass  contained 
a  saint's  history." 

3.  Humorous    simile    (from    Dickens)  :     "  The    unwonted    lines    which 
momentary  passion  had  ruled  in  Mr.  Pickwick's  clear  and  open  brow  gradually 
melted  away,  as  his  young  friend  spoke,  like  the  marks  of  a  black  lead-pencil 
beneath  the  softening  influence  of  India  rubber" 

Metaphor.  —  A  closer  association  of  objects  than  by  simile  is 
made  when,  instead  of  comparing  one  thing  with  another,  we 
identify  the  two,  by  taking  the  name  or  assuming  the  attributes  of 
the  one  for  the  other.  This  figure  is  named  metaphor,  a  term 
derived  from  the  Greek  words  /zera  and  <j!>epw,  to  carry  over,  trans- 
fer ;  indicating  therefore  exactly  what  the  figure  is,  a  transfer  of 
meanings. 


FIGURES  OF  SPEECH.  91 

EXAMPLES. —  I.  The  associated  object  directly  named.  "Music  is  both 
sunshine  and  irrigation  to  the  mind."  —  "  The  man  who  cannot  wonder,  who 
does  not  habitually  wonder  (and  worship),  were  he  President  of  innumerable 
Royal  Societies,  and  carried  the  whole  Mecanique  Celeste  and  Hegel's  Philoso- 
phy, and  the  epitome  of  all  Laboratories  and  Observatories  with  their  results, 
in  his  single  head,  —  is  but  a  Pair  of  Spectacles  behind  which  there  is  no  Eye." 

"  We  must  not  make  a  scarecrow  of  the  law, 
Setting  it  up  to  fear  the  birds  of  prey, 
And  let  it  keep  one  shape,  till  custom  make  it 
Their  perch,  and  not  their  terror." 

2.  The  associated  object  taken  for  granted,  its  attributes  being  assumed.  — 
A  man  assumes  characteristics  of  a  cat :  "  But  I  beg  of  you,  my  dear  Fields, 
do  not  let  my  paternal  zeal  prevent  you  from  giving  your  views  always  and 
freely.     If  I  seem  to  be  stirred  up  at  first,  on  being  stroked  the  wrong  way,  you 
may  be  sure  it  is  only  a  temporary  electrical  snapping,  I  shall  soon  be  purr- 
ing" —  In  the  following  a  single  word  suffices  to  associate  the  object  named 
with  the  sun,  whose  spots  are  invisible  from  the  excess  of  light:  "There  are 
poems  which  we  should  be  inclined  to  designate  as  faultless,  or  as  disfigured 
only  by  blemishes  which  pass  unnoticed  in  the  general  blaze  of  excellence." 

3.  Metaphor,  like  simile,  may  be  used  as  an  instrument  of  disparagement, 
or  humor,  or  some  particular  spirit  of  the  passage :  e.g.  "  Pierre  Bayle  wrote 
enormous  folios,  one  sees  not  on  what  motive  principle;  he  flowed  on  forever, 
a  mighty  tide  of  ditch-water  ;  and  even  died  flowing,  with  the  pen  in  his  hand." 

The  following  remarks  and  suggestions  regarding  the  use  of 
metaphor  are  of  importance. 

i.  Metaphor  is  the  commonest  and  most  spontaneous  of  all  the 
figures.  Language  is  full  of  it.  As  it  names  objects  by  terms  that 
are  more  concrete  than  the  literal,  it  is  especially  adapted  to  give 
form  and  tangibility  to  abstract  ideas ;  indeed,  the  vocabulary  of 
mental  and  moral  qualities  consists  very  largely  of  words  that  are 
or  have  been  metaphors.  "  We  should  often  be  at  a  loss,"  says 
Professor  Jevons,  "  how  to  describe  a  notion,  were  we  not  at  lib- 
erty to  employ  in  a  metaphorical  sense  the  name  of  anything  suffi- 
ciently resembling  it.  There  would  be  no  expression  for  the 
sweetness  of  a  melody,  or  the  brilliance  of  an  harangue,  unless  it 
were  furnished  by  the  taste  of  honey  and  the  brightness  of  a 
torch." 


92  FIGURES   OF  SPEECH. 

NOTE.  —  We  are  wont  to  assume  the  existence  of  a  certain  analogy  between 
the  relations  of  the  mind  and  those  of  the  body.  It  is  by  virtue  of  such  analogy 
that  we  use  such  expressions  as, "  a  striking  thought,"  "  a  ray  of  hope,"  "  a 
shade  of  doubt,"  "  a  flash  of  wit,"  "  ebullitions  of  anger." 

2.  Metaphor  may  be  regarded  in  one  light  as  a  condensed  simile  ; 
and  by  as  much  as  it  gains  in  brevity,  it  is  naturally  better  adapted 
to  produce  a  forcible  and  vivid  impression.    Hence  it  is  more  used 
in  impassioned  discourse,  and  in  dramatic  poetry,  which  is  the 
poetry  of  passion  as  distinguished  from  the  poetry  of  fancy. 

NOTE.  —  This  fact  may  be  illustrated  by  taking  any  metaphor  and  expanding 
it  to  a  simile.  The  greater  diffuseness  of  effect  is  apparent  at  once.  For 
instance,  compare,  "Ingratitude!  thou  marble- hearted  fiend,"  with,  "  Ingrati- 
tude !  thou  fiend  with  a  heart  like  marble."  The  passion  of  the  line  makes 
the  simile  uncongenial. 

3.  Sometimes  simile  and  metaphor  are  united  in  one  expression, 
the  thought  being  introduced  by  the  one  and  carried  on  by  the 
other.     By  this  combination  of  figures  the  illustrative  quality  of 
simile  and  the  vigorous  directness  of  metaphor  are  both,  in  some 
degree,  secured. 

EXAMPLE.  —  The  following  is  from  a  conversation  between  the  sisters  Irene 
and  Penelope  in  Howells'  "  Rise  of  Silas  Lapham  "  :  — 

"  '  Oh,  how  can  you  treat  me  so ! '  moaned  the  sufferer.  '  What  do  you  mean, 
Pen?' 

'  I  guess  I'd  better  not  tell  you,'  said  Penelope,  watching  her  like  a  cat 
playing  with  a  mouse.  If  you're  not  coming  to  tea,  it  would  just  excite  you 
for  nothing.' 

The  mouse  moaned  and  writhed  upon  the  bed. 

'  Oh,  I  wouldn't  treat  you  so  ! ' 

The  cat  seated  herself  across  the  room,  and  asked  quietly  — 

'Well,  what  could  you  do  if  it  was  Mr.  Corey?  You  couldn't  come  to  tea, 
you  say.  But  he'll  excuse  you.  I've  told  him  you  had  a  headache.  Why,  of 
course  you  can't  come!  It  would  be  too  barefaced.  But  you  needn't  be 
troubled,  Irene ;  I'll  do  my  best  to  make  the  time  pass  pleasantly  for  him.' 
Here  the  cat  gave  a  low  titter,  and  the  mouse  girded  itself  up  with  a  momen- 
tary courage  and  self-respect. 

'  I  should  think  you  would  be  ashamed  to  come  here  and  tease  me  so.'  " 


FIGURES  OF  SPEECH.  93 

4.  The  principal  caution  needed  in  the  use  of  metaphor  is,  to 
avoid  mixing  one  metaphor  with  another.     Such  confusion  of  fig- 
ures is  one  of  the  most  common  faults  of  careless  and  slovenly 
thinkers.     It  arises  from  giving  too  little  attention  to  the  succes- 
sive images  that  crowd  upon  the  brain,  and  is  avoided  by  simply 
surrendering  one's  thoughts  to  the  picture  suggested  until   it  is 
wrought  out  as  far  as  needed.     The  homely  old  caution  applicable 
to  all  style  is  of  special  significance  here,  —  "  Have  your  thoughts 
about  you." 

EXAMPLES. —  "The  very  recognition  of  these  or  any  of  them  by  the  juris- 
prudence of  a  nation  is  a  mortal  -wound  to  the  very  keystone  upon  which  the 
whole  arch  of  morality  reposes."  —  "This  world  with  all  its  trials  is  ft&  furnace 
through  which  the  soul  must  pass  and  be  developed  before  it  is  ripe  for  the  next 
world." 

The  following  gives  intentionally  the  ludicrous  effect  that  is  produced  when 
an  uneducated  writer  uses  what  are  at  once  hackneyed  expressions  and  mixed 
metaphor :  "  I  write  to  you  in  a  state  of  mind  that  I  really  ardly  know  what  I 
am  about,  but  I  cannot  indure  making  no  effort  to  clear  up  the  gaping  abiss 
which  the  events  of  the  past  fatal  afternoon  has  raised  betwixt  us," 

5.  Akin  to  this  fault  is  the  injudicious  or  thoughtless  mixture 
of  metaphor  and  literal  statement,  which  either  produces  the  effect 
of  bathos  or  else  fills  the  whole  passage  with  confusion. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  following,  from  Dryden,  describing  the  writing  of  drama, 
is  a  sudden  drop  into  bathos:  "When  thus,  as  I  may  say,  before  the  use  of 
the  loadstone,  or  knowledge  of  the  compass,  I  was  sailing  in  a  vast  ocean, 
without  other  help  than  the  pole-star  of  the  ancients,  and  the  rules  of  the  French 
stage  among  the  moderns." 

In  the  following,  in  which  there  is  betrayed  an  effort  at  smartness,  where 
does  history  end  and  metaphor  begin?  —  "The  object  of  the  conspirators  was 
to  put  between  thirty  and  forty  barrels  of  gunpowder  into  the  mine,  and  to 
blow  the  King  and  the  Prince  of  Wales,  the  lords  and  the  bishops,  to  atoms. 
They  shortly  found  a  cellar  which  answered  their  purpose  better.  Here  they 
banked  up  their  barrels  under  a  suspicious  quantity  of  coal  and  other  fuel. 
When  the  train  was  laid,  it  led,  however,  to  themselves,  and  when  the  explo- 
sion came,  it  was  under  their  own  feet.  They  were  scattered  to  the  four 
winds." 


04  FIGURES  OF  SPEECH. 

Personification.  —  This  figure  endows  inanimate  things,  or 
abstract  ideas,  with  attributes  of  life  and  mind.  It  is  closely 
related  to  the  preceding  figure,  being  indeed,  in  some  of  its  uses, 
merely  personal  metaphor.  The  English  language  is  especially 
adapted  to  effective  personification,  because  it  is  not  cumbered, 
like  Latin,  Greek,  and  German,  with  the  incongruities  of  gram- 
matical gender;  so  when  personality  is  attributed  to  something 
inanimate,  and  it  is  thus  endowed  with  gender,  the  fact  is  signifi- 
cant and  striking. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "  Do  we  look  for  Truth?  she  is  not  the  inhabitant  of  cities 
nor  delights  in  clamor;  she  steals  upon  the  calm  and  meditative  as  Diana  upon 
Endymion,  indulgent  in  her  chastity,  encouraging  a  modest,  and  requiting  a 
faithful  love." — "And  then  came  autumn,  with  his  immense  burden  of  apples, 
dropping  them  continually  from  his  overladen  shoulders  as  he  trudged  along." 

"  Yet  Hope  had  never  lost  her  youth ; 

She  did  but  look  through  dimmer  eyes ; 
r        Or  Love  but  play'd  with  gracious  lies, 
Because  he  felt  so  fix'd  in  truth." 

The  use  of  personification  is  in  giving  concreteness  to  abstract 
ideas ;  we  can  conceive  much  more  vividly  what  may  be  seen  or 
heard  than  what  is  merely  a  subject  of  thought.  Its  abuse  is  in 
employing  it  where  no  end  of  concreteness  or  vividness  really  calls 
for  it ;  cheapening  it  from  a  practical  use  to  "  that  alphabetic  per- 
sonification which  enlivens  all  such  words  as  Hunger,  Solitude, 
Freedom,  by  the  easy  magic  of  an  initial  capital." 

NOTE.  —  In  the  following  sentence  there  is  no  occasion  for  personification, 
nor  is  anything  gained  by  it,  in  clearness,  concreteness,  or  vividness :  "  It  is  to 
scholarly  men  that  the  world  owes  her  progress  in  civilization  and  culture." 
This  illustrates  the  chief  tendency  to  abuse  of  personification  by  young  writers, 
—  using  it  whenever  the  world,  or  our  nation,  or  trade,  or  science,  or  literature 
is  the  subject  of  remark. 

Allegory.  —  In  this  figure  a  course  of  moral  or  mental  truth  is 
conceived  under  the  form  of  a  fundamental  metaphor,  and  followed 
out  into  detail  as  a  narrative.  Thus,  in  the  most  famous  of  allego- 
ries, Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress,  the  trials  and  experiences  of  the 


FIGURES  OF  SPEECH.  95 

Christian  life  are  portrayed  under  the  figure  of  a  pilgrimage  from 
the  "  City  of  Destruction  "  to  the  "  Celestial  City." 

The  advantage  of  allegory,  as  a  means  of  conveying  abstract 
truth,  is  twofold.  First,  it  makes  the  thought  concrete,  as  does 
metaphor,  by  representing  it  in  the  guise  of  objects  of  sense ;  and 
secondly,  it  lends  to  it  the  aid  of  story,  which  is  the  easiest  and 
most  interesting  of  literary  forms.  A  course  of  abstract  thought 
must  be  planned  in  logical  sequences ;  as  allegory,  however,  it  is 
planned  according  to  a  plot. 

EXAMPLE. —The  following  scene,  from  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  will  illustrate 
the  principle  of  the  allegory,  and  the  double  meaning  underlying  it.  The  pil- 
grims, Christian  and  Hopeful,  are  just  departing  from  the  Delectable  Moun- 
tains. 

"  When  they  were  about  to  depart,  one  of  the  Shepherds  gave  them  a  note 
of  the  way.  Another  of  them  bid  them  beware  of  the  Flatterer.  The  third 
bid  them  take  heed  that  they  sleep  not  on  the  Enchanted  Ground.  And  the 
fourth  bid  them  God-speed.  So  I  awoke  from  my  dream. 

And  I  slept  and  dreamed  again,  and  saw  the  same  two  pilgrims  going  down 
the  mountains  along  the  highway  towards  the  city.  .  .  . 

So  they  went  on,  and  Ignorance  followed.  They  went  then  till  they  came 
at  a  place  where  they  saw  a  way  put  itself  into  their  way,  and  seemed  withal 
to  lie  as  straight  as  the  way  which  they  should  go;  and  here  they  knew  not 
which  of  the  two  to  take,  for  both  seemed  straight  before  them;  therefore  here 
they  stood  still  to  consider.  And  as  they  were  thinking  about  the  way,  behold 
a  man  black  of  flesh,  but  covered  with  a  very  light  robe,  came  to  them,  and 
asked  them  why  they  stood  there.  They  answered  they  were  going  to  the 
Celestial  City,  but  knew  not  which  of  these  ways  to  take.  '  Follow  me,'  said 
the  man, '  it  is  thither  that  I  am  going.'  So  they  followed  him  in  the  way  that 
but  now  came  into  the  road,  which  by  degrees  turned,  and  turned  them  so 
from  the  city  that  they  desired  to  go  to,  that  in  little  time  their  faces  were 
turned  away  from  it;  yet  they  followed  him.  But  by-and-by,  before  they  were 
aware,  he  led  them  both  within  the  compass  of  a  net,  in  which  they  were 
both  so  entangled,  that  they  knew  not  what  to  do;  and  with  that  the  white 
robe  fell  off  the  black  man's  back.  Then  they  saw  where  they  were.  Where- 
fore there  they  lay  crying  some  time,  for  they  could  not  get  themselves  out. 

Chr.  Then  said  Christian  to  his  fellow,  Now  do  I  see  myself  in  an  error. 
Did  not  the  shepherds  bid  us  beware  of  the  Flatterers?  As  is  the  saying  of 
the  Wise  man,  so  we  have  found  it  this  day,  '  A  man  that  flattereth  his  neigh- 
bor spreadeth  a  net  for  his  feet.' 


96  FIGURES   OF  SPEECH. 

Hope.  They  also  gave  us  a  note  of  directions  about  the  way,  for  our  more 
sure  finding  thereof;  but  therein  we  have  also  forgotten  to  read,  and  have  not 
kept  ourselves  from  the  paths  of  the  destroyer.  Here  David  was  wiser  than 
we;  for  saith  he,  'Concerning  the  works  of  men,  by  the  word  of  thy  lips  I 
have  kept  me  from  the  paths  of  the  destroyer.' 

Thus  they  lay  bewailing  themselves  in  the  net. 

At  last  they  espied  a  Shining  One  coming  towards  them  with  a  whip  of 
small  cord  in  his  hand.  When  he  was  come  to  the  place  where  they  were, 
he  asked  them  whence  they  came,  and  what  they  did  there.  They  told  him 
they  were  poor  pilgrims  going  to  Sion,  but  were  led  out  of  their  way  by  a 
black  man,  clothed  in  white,  '  who  bid  us,'  said  they,  '  follow  him,  for  he  was 
going  thither  too.'  Then  saith  he  with  the  whip, '  It  is  Flatterer,  a  false  apostle, 
that  hath  transformed  himself  into  an  angel  of  light.'  So  he  rent  the  net,  and 
let  the  men  out.  Then  said  he  to  them,  '  Follow  me,  that  I  may  set  you  in 
your  way  again.'  So  he  led  them  back  to  the  way  which  they  had  left  to  follow 
the  Flatterer.  Then  he  asked  them,  saying,  'Where  did  you  lie  the  last  night?' 
They  said,  '  With  the  shepherds  upon  the  Delectable  Mountains.'  He  asked 
them  then,  If  they  had  not  of  those  shepherds  a  note  of  direction  for  the  way? 
They  answered,  '  Yes.'  '  But  did  you,'  said  he,  '  when  you  were  at  a  stand, 
pluck  out  and  read  your  note? '  They  answered, '  No.'  He  asked  them, '  Why? ' 
They  said  they  forgot.  He  asked  moreover,  If  the  shepherds  did  not  bid  them 
beware  of  the  Flatterer?  They  answered,  'Yes;  but  we  did  not  imagine,' 
said  they,- 'that  this  fine-spoken  man  had  been  he.' 

Then  I  saw  in  my  dream  that  he  commanded  them  to  lie  down,  which  when 
they  did,  he  chastised  them  sore,  to  teach  them  the  good  way  wherein  they 
should  walk;  and  as  he  chastised  them  he  said,  '  As  many  as  I  love,  I  rebuke 
and  chasten;  be  zealous,  therefore,  and  repent.'  This  done,  he  bid  them  go 
on  their  way,  and  take  good  heed  to  the  other  directions  of  the  shepherds. 
So  they  thanked  him  for  all  his  kindness,  and  went  softly  along  the  right  way, 
singing." 

Allegory  has  always  been  a  favorite  vehicle  for  moral  truth. 
There  are  various  modifications  of  the  figure,  such  as  Parables, 
Fables,  Apologues,  which,  being  well  enough  defined  in  any  dic- 
tionary, need  not  be  further  discriminated  here. 

II.    FIGURES  THAT   PROMOTE  EMPHASIS. 

Principle  of  this  Class.  —  A  figure  of  speech  promotes  empha- 
sis, not  by  associating  another  idea  more  concrete  or  more  pictur- 
esque, but  by  calling  out  the  thought  itself  into  greater  distinction, 


FIGURES   OF  SPEECH.  97 

through  some  peculiar  manner  of  expressing  it.  As  simply  stated, 
the  thought  appeals  only  to  the  understanding ;  as  expressed  fig- 
uratively, it  is  thrown,  so  to  say,  upon  the  reader's  feelings,  and 
thus  its  effect  is  heightened. 

The  following  are  the  principal  figures  to  be  mentioned  under 
this  head. 

Exclamation. — The  most  spontaneous  expression  of  emotion 
is  by  exclamation.  This  is  to  be  distinguished  from  interjectional 
words  (as  ah,  alas,  fie,  hush),  which  latter  are  not  figures  of 
speech.  Exclamation  as  a  figure  of  speech  is  the  expression  of  a 
thought,  just  as  it  is  strongly  felt,  not  by  a  logical  affirmation,  but 
by  some  abrupt,  inverted,  or  elliptical  construction.  The  value  of 
this  figure  consists  in  the  naturalness  with  which  it  answers  to  the 
emotion  within  and  the  occasion  without.  Its  abuse  is  in  employ- 
ing it  when  the  reader  cannot  be  supposed  excited  enough  to 
appreciate  its  propriety ;  at  the  beginning  of  a  literary  work,  for 
instance,  before  the  subject  has  acquired  a  momentum,  an  exclam- 
atory style  would  almost  inevitably  seem  forced. 

EXAMPLES.  —  Note  the  difference  in  effect  between  the  tame  assertion, 
"A  man  is  a  most  wonderful  creature;  noble  in  reason,  infinite  in  faculties," 
etc.,  and  the  same  truth  held  up  to  view,  as  it  were,  by  exclamation  :  "  What 
a  piece  of  work  is  a  man !  how  noble  in  reason !  how  infinite  in  faculties ! 
in  form  and  moving  how  express  and  admirable !  in  action  how  like  an  angel ! 
in  apprehension  how  like  a  god  ! " 

Interrogation. — This  figure  is  the  natural  result  of  the  endeavor 
to  enforce  a  vividly  realized  thought.  The  impulse  is  very  direct 
to  put  such  an  assertion  in  the  form  of  a  question. 

Here,  as  in  the  preceding  case,  distinction  is  to  be  made  be- 
tween figurative  and  unfigurative  uses.  The  figure  interrogation 
asks  a  question,  not  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  information,  nor 
even  as  an  indication  of  doubt,  but  in  order  to  assert  strongly  the 
reverse  of  what  is  asked.  It  presupposes  the  idea  as  so  certain 
that  the  reader  or  hearer  may  be  challenged  to  gainsay  the  affir- 
mation ;  and  in  this,  its  character  as  a  virtual  challenge,  consists 
the  emphasis  of  the  figure.  If  the  answer  were  less  than  ab- 


98  FIGURES   OF  SPEECH. 

solutely  certain,  the   question  would  degenerate   into   a  conun- 
drum. 

EXAMPLES.  —  From  Burke:  "What!  Gentlemen,  was  I  not  to  foresee,  or 
foreseeing  was  I  not  to  endeavor  to  save  you  from  all  these  multiplied  mis- 
chiefs and  disgraces?  .  .  .  Was  I  an  Irishman  on  that  day  that  I  boldly  with- 
stood our  pride?  or  on  the  day  that  I  hung  down  my  head,  and  wept  in 
shame  and  silence  over  the  humiliation  of  Great  Britain?  I  became  unpopu- 
lar in  England  for  the  one,  and  in  Ireland  for  the  other.  What  then?  What 
obligation  lay  on  me  to  be  popular?  " 

The  following,  from  Thackeray,  illustrates  how  natural  it  is  to  expect  the 
contrary  answer  to  an  oratorical  interrogation;  the  answer  given,  not  being 
the  reverse,  is  somewhat  estranging.  "What  is  it  to  be  a  gentleman?  Is  it 
to  have  lofty  aims,  to  lead  a  pure  life,  to  keep  your  honor  virgin;  to  have  the 
esteem  of  your  fellow-citizens,  and  the  love  of  your  fireside;  to  bear  good  for- 
tune meekly;  to  suffer  evil  with  constancy;  and  through  evil  or  good  to  main- 
tain truth  always?  Show  me  the  happy  man  whose  life  exhibits  these  quali- 
ties, and  him  we  will  salute  as  gentleman,  whatever  his  rank  may  be;  show 
me  the  prince  who  possesses  them,  and  he  may  be  sure  of  our  love  and 
loyalty." 

Here  we  naturally  expect,  "  Is  it  not  to  have  lofty  aims,"  etc. 

Apostrophe. — This  figure,  as  is  indicated  in  the  derivation  of 
the  word,  consists  in  turning  from  the  natural  course  of  the  thought, 
in  which  a  person  or  thing  is  spoken  of,  to  address  it  directly,  as 
if  it  were  present.  When  the  object  addressed  is  inanimate,  the 
figure  apostrophe  involves  also  personification. 

The  emphasis  of  this  figure  results  from  the  fact  that  an  absent 
object  is  so  vividly  conceived  as  to  become,  as  it  were,  present  to 
the  senses. 

EXAMPLE.  —  The  following  apostrophe  forms  the  peroration  of  Webster's 
oration  on  "  The  First  Settlement  of  New  England." 

"  Advance,  then,  ye  future  generations !  We  would  hail  you,  as  you  rise  in 
your  long  succession,  to  fill  the  places  which  we  now  fill,  and  to  taste  the 
blessings  of  existence  where  we  are  passing,  and  soon  shall  have  passed,  our 
own  human  duration.  We  bid  you  welcome  to  this  pleasant  land  of  the 
fathers.  We  bid  you  welcome  to  the  healthful  skies  and  the  verdant  fields  of 
New  England.  We  greet  your  accession  to  the  great  inheritance  which  we 
have  enjoyed.  We  welcome  you  to  the  blessings  of  good  government  and 
religious  liberty.  We  welcome  you  to  the  treasures  of  science  and  the  de.- 


FIGURES  OF  SPEECH.  99 

lights  of  learning.  We  welcome  you  to  the  transcendent  sweets  of  domestic 
life,  to  the  happiness  of  kindred,  and  parents,  and  children.  We  welcome  you 
to  the  immeasurable  blessings  of  rational  existence,  the  immortal  hope  of 
Christianity,  and  the  light  of  everlasting  truth !  " 

Hyperbole. — This  figure  magnifies  objects  beyond  their  natural 
bounds,  in  order  to  make  them  more  impressive  or  more  vivid. 
Its  use  lies  in  being  understood  for  what  it  is  —  an  exaggeration : 
the  reader  easily  makes  allowance  for  what  transcends  the  literal, 
and,  attributing  the  excess  to  emotion,  receives  it  with  something 
of  the  same  emotion.  Its  abuse  consists  in  not  answering  inti- 
mately to  the  spirit  of  the  passage  :  overdoing  the  passion,  it  be- 
comes bombast ;  employed  where  no  proper  emotion  exists  to  call 
it  forth,  it  is  ludicrous. 

According  to  the  spirit  that  gives  rise  to  the  figure,  two  uses  of 
hyperbole  may  be  distinguished.  The  first,  which  results  from 
strong  and  earnest  feeling,  as  in  contemplating  what  is  sublime  or 
what  produces  sorrow,  may  be  called  impassioned  hyperbole.  The 
second,  which  results  from  the  vivid  conception  of  some  charac- 
teristic of  an  object,  and  the  writer's  spontaneous  effort  to  describe 
it  according  to  the  effect  on  his  own  mind,  may  be  called  descrip- 
tive hyperbole.  Not  infrequently  this  latter  use  is  humorous. 

EXAMPLES. —  i.  Impassioned  hyperbole. 

From  Ossian  :  "  I  saw  their  chief,  tall  as  a  rock  of  ice;  his  spear  the  blasted 
fir;  his  shield  the  rising  moon;  he  sat  on  the  shore  like  a  cloud  of  mist  on  the 
hill." 

From  Milton :  — 

"  So  frowned  the  mighty  combatants  that  hell 
Grew  darker  at  their  frown." 

From  David :  — 

"  Saul  and  Jonathan  were  lovely  and  pleasant  in  their  lives, 
And  in  their  death  they  were  not  divided. 
They  were  swifter  than  eagles ; 
They  were  stronger  than  lions." 

2.  Descriptive  hyperbole. 

From  De  Quincey:  "The  groom  swore  he  would  do  anything  I  wished; 
and,  when  the  time  arrived,  went  up  stairs  to  bring  my  trunk  down.  This  I 


100  FIGURES   OF  SPEECH. 

feared  was  beyond  the  strength  of  any  one  man :  however,  the  groom  was  a 

nian  Of  Atlantean  shoulders  fit  to  bear 

The  weight  of  mightiest  monarchies ; 

and  had  a  back  as  spacious  as  Salisbury  Plains''1 

From  E.  P.  Roe:  "  Mrs.  Brown  was  heavy  in  every  sense  of  the  word;  and 
with  her  huge  person  encased  in  acres  of  silk  and  festooned  with  no  end  of 
black  lace,  she  waddled  about  and  smiled  and  nodded  good-naturedly  at 
everybody  and  everything." 

From  Hawthorne:  "In  the  way  of  furniture,  there  were  two  tables:  one, 
constructed  with  perplexing  intricacy  and  exhibiting  as  many  feet  as  a  centi- 
pede ;  the  other  most  delicately  wrought,  with  four  long  and  slender  legs,  so 
apparently  frail  that  it  was  almost  incredible  what  a  length  of  time  the  ancient 
tea-table  had  stood  upon  them." 

Irony.  —  This  figure  expresses  the  contrary  of  what  is  meant, 
there  being  something  in  the  tone  or  manner  to  show  the  speaker's 
real  drift.  The  strength  of  the  figure  consists  in  its  being  so  unan- 
swerable that  no  doubt  can  exist  of  the  falsity  of  what  it  assumes 
as  true.  It  is  a  kind  of  reductio  ad  absurdum. 

EXAMPLES.  —  In  the  following  passage  Thackeray  regards  the  guilt  of  the 
Princess  Sophia  Dorothea  as  so  notoriously  evident  that  he  may  safely  call 
her  innocent. 

"  How  that  perverse  fidelity  of  passion  pursues  the  villain !  How  madly 
true  the  woman  is,  and  how  astoundingly  she  lies !  She  has  bewitched  two  or 
three  persons  who  have  taken  her  up,  and  they  won't  believe  in  her  wrong. 
Like  Mary  of  Scotland,  she  finds  adherents  ready  to  conspire  for  her  even  in 
history,  and  people  who  have  to  deal  with  her  are  charmed,  and  fascinated, 
and  bedevilled.  How  devotedly  Miss  Strickland  has  stood  by  Mary's  inno- 
cence! Are  there  not  scores  of  ladies  in  this  audience  who  persist  in  it  too? 
Innocent !  I  remember  as  a  boy  how  a  great  party  persisted  in  declaring 
Caroline  of  Brunswick  was  a  martyred  angel.  So  was  Helen  of  Greece  inno- 
cent. She  never  ran  away  with  Paris,  the  dangerous  young  Trojan.  Mene- 
laus,  her  husband,  ill-used  her;  and  there  was  never  any  siege  of  Troy  at  all. 
So  was  Bluebeard's  wife  innocent.  She  never  peeped  into  the  closet  where 
the  other  wives  were  with  their  heads  off.  She  never  dropped  the  key,  or 
stained  it  with  blood;  and  her  brothers  were  quite  right  in  finishing  Blue- 
beard, the  cowardly  brute !  Yes,  Caroline  of  Brunswick  was  innocent :  and 
Madame  Laffarge  never  poisoned  her  husband;  and  Mary  of  Scotland  never 
blew  up  hers;  and  poor  Sophia  Dorothea  was  never  unfaithful;  and  Eve 
never  took  the  apple  —  it  was  a  cowardly  fabrication  of  the  serpent's." 


FIGURES   OF  SPEECH.  101 

In  the  following,  from  Macaulay,  the  irony  consists  in  describing  the  deep- 
est evil  in  terms  belonging  to  the  good. 

"  It  may  well  be  conceived  that,  at  such  a  time,  such  a  nature  as  that  of 
Marlborough  would  riot  in  the  very  luxury  of  baseness.  His  former  treason 
thoroughly  furnished  with  all  that  makes  infamy  exquisite,  placed  him  under 
the  disadvantage  which  attends  every  artist  from  the  time  that  he  produces  a 
masterpiece.  Yet  his  second  great  stroke  may  excite  wonder,  even  in  those 
who  appreciate  all  the  merit  of  the  first.  Lest  his  admirers  should  be  able  to 
say  that  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution  he  had  betrayed  his  King  from  any 
other  than  selfish  motives,  he  proceeded  to  betray  his  country." 

One  or  two  further  remarks  on  the  figure  Irony  may  here  be 
made. 

1.  A  passage  not  predominantly  ironical  in  tone  may  often  be 
made  more  spirited  by  an  occasional  ironical  touch,  which,  being 
less  obtrusive,  is  correspondingly  more  graceful.     Young  writers 
who  employ  this  device  often  betray  their  anxiety  that  their  irony 
may  not  be  missed  by  marking  such  touches  with  an  interrogation- 
point  enclosed  in  parenthesis ;  but  this  is  ordinarily  quite  needless, 
and  in  poor  taste. 

EXAMPLES  OF  IRONICAL  TOUCHES.  —  From  Charles  Egbert  Craddock : 
"  He  leaned  forward  suddenly,  and  clutched  Pete  by  the  throat,  and  the  old 
man  and  Solomon  were  fain  to  interfere  actively  to  prevent  that  doughty  mem- 
ber of  the  family  from  being  throttled  on  the  spot.  Pending  the  interchange 
of  these  amenities,  Rick  Tyler  lay  motionless  on  the  ground." 

From  Augustine  Birrell  ("  Obiter  Dicta "):  "He  (Browning)  partially 
failed;  and  the  British  public,  with  its  accustomed  generosity,  and  in  order,  I 
suppose,  to  encourage  the  others,  has  never  ceased  girding  at  him,  because 
forty-two  years  ago  he  published,  at  his  own  charges,  a  little  book  of  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pages,  which  even  such  of  them  as  were  then  able  to  read  could 
not  understand." 

2.  Irony,   more   especially  in   its  modified  form  of   satire   or 
innuendo,  is  an  edge-tool  of  which  the  writer  needs  to  be  very 
careful.     Not  only  may  the  satirical  spirit  become  very  enslaving, 
and  lead  him  to  look  upon  everything  with  captious  and  cynical 
eyes ;    but  it  almost  inevitably  gives  his  writing  an  element  of 
offense  to  simple  and  straight-forward  minds.     People  may  admire 
a  satirist's  wit  and  keenness,  but  more  deeply  they  suspect  and  fear 


102  FIGURES   OF  SPEECH. 

him  ;  even  Thackeray,  kind  hearted  as  his  admirers  know  him  to 
have  been,  contracted  such  an  unfortunate  habit  of  satire,  on  cer- 
tain subjects,  that  he  is  apologized  for  fully  as  much  as  he  is 
praised. 

The  figures  of  this  class  yet  to  be  named  promote  emphasis  not 
as  being  the  outcome  of  some  emotion  or  passion,  but  as  embody- 
ing in  some  form  the  intellectual  effort  to  give  point  and  distinc- 
tion to  the  thought. 

Antithesis.  — This  figure  places  opposite  ideas  in  juxtaposition, 
for  the  purpose  of  heightening  their  effect  by  contrast.  Its 
emphasis  consists  in  the  fact  that  one  idea  sets  off  another. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "  If  you  would  seek  to  make  one  rich,  study  not  to  increase 
his  stores,  but  to  diminish  his  desires."  —  From  Macaulay:  "The  Puritans 
hated  bear-baiting,  not  because  it  gave  pain  to  the  bear,  but  because  it  gave 
pleasure  to  the  spectators."  — The  following,  from  Tennyson's  "  Lancelot  and 
Elaine,"  describes  in  a  series  of  very  bold  antitheses  Lancelot's  guilty  love  for 
Queen  Guinevere.  From  his  sick-bed  the  knight  is  regarding  Elaine,  as  she 
ministers  to  him  :  — 

"  And  peradventure  had  he  seen  her  first 
She  might  have  made  this  and  that  other  world 
Another  world  for  the  sick  man ;  but  now 
The  shackles  of  an  old  love  straiten'd  him, 
His  honor  rooted  in  dishonor  stood. 
And  faith  unfaithful  kept  him  falsely  true" 

The  abuse  of  antithesis  consists  in  warping  the  true  course  of 
the  thought  in  order  to  accommodate  it  to  a  striking  juncture  of 
terms.  The  tendency  to  express  thought  antithetically  may  indeed 
become  a  tyranny  to  the  writer,  if  not  rigorously  regulated. 
When  fact  yields  in  the  smallest  degree  to  antithesis,  the  figure 
becomes  a  snare.  "  Those  who  make  antitheses  by  forcing  the 
sense,"  says  Pascal,  "  are  like  those  who  make  false  windows  for 
the  sake  of  symmetry.  Their  rule  is  not  to  speak  accurately,  but 
to  make  accurate  figures." 

NOTE.  —  The  antithesis  quoted  above  from  Macaulay  doubtless  makes  a 
too  absolute  and  sweeping  statement  about  the  Puritans,  when  it  accuses  them 
of  hating  bear-baiting  because  it  gave  pleasure  to  the  spectators;  but  the 


FIGURES   OF  SPEECH.  103 

opportunity  for  antithesis,  so  clear  and  tempting,  seems  to  have  caused  the 
historian,  perhaps  unthinkingly,  to  stretch  the  truth.  It  is  largely  Macaulay's 
inveterate  tendency  to  striking  antithetic  statement  that  causes  distrust  in  read- 
ing his  historical  writings;  diligent  investigator  though  he  was,  readers  often 
hesitate  to  lean  their  whole  weight  on  his  assertions,  for  fear  he  may  have 
sacrificed  some  measure  of  truth  to  form. 

Two  or  three  additional  remarks  need  to  be  made  on  antithesis. 

1.  Sometimes  a  false  antithesis  may  be  made,  that  is,  a  play  on 
words,  antithetic  in  form  but  not  in  sense.     This  however  is  a 
device  so  artificial  that  only  a  writer  of  the  finest  taste  can  be 
trusted  to  adopt  it  of  intent ;  and  when  it  occurs  inadvertently  it 
had  better  be  broken  up. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  following,  from  Tennyson's  "  Godiva,"  is  an  extreme 
example :  — 

"  But  she 
Did  more,  and  underwent,  and  overcame." 

Here  under  and  over,  went  and  came,  express  opposition  in  sound  only,  not  in 
idea.  —  The  following  similar  example  occurred  inadvertently  in  a  prose  pro- 
duction :  "  This  is  a  duty  that  we  are  too  often  tempted  to  overlook  or  under- 
value  ";  and  the  expression  was  changed  to  "overlook  or  value  but  lightly." 

2.  Much  grace  and  point  may  be  imparted  to  a  passage  by  hid- 
den antithesis,  that  is,  antithesis  unobtrusive  in  form,  but  none  the 
less  real  in  its  power  of  setting  ideas  over  against  each  other. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "  They  were  engaged  in  the  noble  work  of  calling  men  out 
of  their  heathenism,  with  its  manifold  corruptions  and  superstitions,  into  the 
gospel  of  purity  and  love."  —  From  Motley:  "A  strange  and  contradictory 
spectacle !  An  army  of  criminals  doing  deeds  which  could  only  be  expiated 
at  the  stake;  an  entrenched  rebellion,  bearding  government  with  pike,  match- 
lock, javelin  and  barricade,  and  all  for  no  more  deadly  purpose  than  to  listen 
to  the  precepts  of  the  pacific  Jesus." 

3.  The  principle  of  contrast,  on  which  antithesis  is  based,  ex- 
tends to  much  broader  relations  than  are  indicated  by  mere  verbal 
oppositions  and  structure  of  clauses.     Thought,  incidents,  charac- 
teristics, are  often  prepared  for  or  set  off  by  something  that  pre- 
sents a  striking  contrast,  and  gives  thus  the  lights  and  shades,  the 


104  FIGURES   OF  SPEECH. 

contradictions  and  incongruities,  that  continually  occur  to  excite 
interest  in  real  life.  Antithesis  in  this  broader  signification  is  one 
of  the  most  spontaneous  resources  of  literature. 

EXAMPLE.  —  The  following,  from  Dickens,  will  illustrate  how  contrast  may 
be  employed  to  make  a  scene  or  an  incident  vivid. 

"There  was  a  certain  elderly  gentleman  who  lived  in  a  court  of  the  Temple, 
and  was  a  great  judge  and  lover  of  port  wine.  Every  day  he  dined  at  his 
club  and  drank  his  bottle  or  two  of  port  wine,  and  every  night  came  home  to 
the  Temple  and  went  to  bed  in  his  lonely  chambers.  This  had  gone  on  many 
years  without  variation,  when  one  night  he  had  a  fit  on  coming  home,  and  fell 
and  cut  his  head  deep,  but  partly  recovered  and  groped  about  in  the  dark  to 
find  the  door.  When  he  was  afterwards  discovered,  dead,  it  was  clearly 
established  by  the  marks  of  his  hands  about  the  room  that  he  must  have  done 
so.  Now,  this  chanced  on  the  night  of  Christmas  Eve,  and  over  him  lived  a 
young  fellow  who  had  sisters  and  young  country-friends,  and  who  gave  them 
a  little  party  that  night,  in  the  course  of  which  they  played  at  Blindman's 
Buff.  They  played  that  game,  for  their  greater  sport,  by  the  light  of  the  fire 
only;  and  once,  when  they  were  all  quietly  rustling  and  stealing  about,  and 
the  blindman  was  trying  to  pick  out  the  prettiest  sister  (for  which  I  am  far 
from  blaming  him),  somebody  cried,  'Hark  !  The  man  below  must  be  play- 
ing Blindman's  Buff  by  himself  to-night ! '  They  listened,  and  they  heard 
sounds  of  some  one  falling  about  and  stumbling  against  furniture,  and  they  all 
laughed  at  the  conceit,  and  went  on  with  their  play,  more  lighthearted  and 
merry  than  ever.  Thus,  those  two  so  different  games  of  life  and  death  were 
played  out  together,  blindfolded,  in  the  two  sets  of  chambers." 

Epigram.  —  This  figure  employs  in  modified  form  the  principle 
of  contrast  or  antithesis,  in  order  to  give  point  to  a  thought. 

The  term  epigram  has  been  so  broadly  and  variously  applied 
that  it  has  come  to  be  popularly  taken  as  meaning  any  unusually 
pungent  way  of  putting  things.  This  idea  is,  however,  too  vague. 
To  be  epigrammatic  an  expression  must  have  fundamentally  two 
qualities  :  it  must  be  brief;  and  it  must  give  some  unexpected 
turn  to  the  idea.  This  latter  quality  is  obtained  in  various  ways. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  following  will  illustrate  some  of  the  means  by  which  epi- 
grammatic point  is  secured. 

I.  By  an  apparent  contradiction.  "Conspicuous  for  its  absence." —  "Ver- 
bosity is  cured  by  a  wide  vocabulary."  —  "Language  is  the  art  of  concealing 
thought."  —  "  He  is  so  good  that  he  is  good  for  nothing."  —  "  Here  he  straight- 


FIGURES  OF  SPEECH.  105 

way  fell  into  new  misadventure  by  conceiving  an  undying  passion,  that  lasted 
several  weeks,  for  a  young  countrywoman  whom  he  found  in  Holland." 

2.  By  emphatic  assertion  of  a  truism.     "  Fact  is  fact."  —  "  His  coming  was 
an  event."  —  "  What  I  have  written,  I  have  written." 

3.  By  a  sudden  turn  of  the  thought  in  a  different  spirit.     "  He  is  full  of 
information  —  like  yesterday's  Times."  —  "  His  memory  (for  trifles)  is  remark- 
able, and  (where  his  own  performances  are  not  involved)  his  taste  is  excel- 
lent." — "  What  that  man  does  not  know  is  not  worth  knowing,"  was  once 
said  admiringly  of  an  enthusiast  in  out-of-the-way  learning.     "True,"  was  the 
reply,  "  and  what  he  does  know  is  not  worth  knowing." 

4.  By  seeming  irrelevance  of  associated  idea.     "  Where  snow  falls,  there 
is  a  freedom."  —  "  Lapland  is  too  cold  a  country  for  sonnets." 

5.  By  play  on  words.     "The  time  will  come  when  America,  too,  will  under- 
stand that  her  ease  is  her  disease." —  "My  habit  of  writing  only  to  people  who, 
rather  than  have  nothing  from  me,  will  tolerate  nothings."  —  "  Those  laborious 
orators  who  mistake  perspiration  for  inspiration" 

In  all  the  above  examples  the  essential  feature  of  the  epigram  —  namely, 
the  element  of  surprise  —  is  easily  detected. 

The  power  of  epigram  lies  very  largely  in  the  comparative  rarity 
of  its  employment.  It  is  too  artificial,  too  elaborate,  to  be  made 
common  ;  it  should  be  reserved  for  those  thoughts  which  need  to 
be  compressed  into  especially  striking  and  rememberable  statement. 

Climax.  —  This  figure,  which  depends  upon  the  law  that  a 
thought  must  have  progress,  is  the  ordering  of  thought  and  expres- 
sion so  that  there  shall  be  uniform  and  evident  increase  in  signifi- 
cance, or  interest,  or  intensity.  The  derivation  of  the  word,  from 
the  Greek  KXifiag,  a  ladder,  suggestively  indicates  the  character  of 
the  figure. 

The  construction  of  a  climax  depends  more  on  the  character  of 
the  thought  than  on  the  mechanism  of  expression,  and  conse- 
quently directions  for  the  management  of  the  latter  may,  in  a 
given  case,  give  way  to  weightier  considerations.  In  general,  how- 
ever, it  may  be  said  that,  as  volume  of  sound  helps  volume  of 
sense,  shorter  and  less  sonorous  words  and  constructions  should, 
other  considerations  apart,  precede  the  longer  and  more  sonorous. 
That  is  the  best  climax  where  the  structure  corresponds  to  the 
progressive  intensity  of  the  thought. 


106  FIGURES  OF  SPEECH. 

EXAMPLES. — Various  aspects  of  the  figure  may  here  be  exemplified. 

1.  Climax  of  intensity.    The  commonly  cited  example,  from  Cicero's  oration 
against  Verres,  being  also  the  clearest  and  most  striking  of  examples,  cannot 
well  be  omitted  here  :    "  It  is  an  outrage  to  bind  a  Roman  citizen;  to  scourge 
him  is  an  atrocious  crime;   to  put  him  to  death  is  almost  parricide;  but  to 
crucify  him  —  what  shall  I  call  it?"  —  From  Dr.  Holmes:  "I  know  it,  I  re- 
plied, —  I  concede  it,  I  confess  it,  I  proclaim  it." 

2.  Climax  of  structure,  corresponding  with  climax  of  significance.     From 
Burke :  "  This  was  unnatural.     The  rest  is  in  order.     They  have  found  their 
punishment  in  their  success.    Laws  overturned ;  tribunals  subverted ;  industry 
without  vigor;   commerce  expiring;   the  revenue  unpaid,  yet  the  people  im- 
poverished;  a  church  pillaged,  and  a  state  not  relieved;   civil  and  military 
anarchy  made  the  constitution  of  the  kingdom;   everything  human  and  divine 
sacrificed  to  the  idol  of  public  credit,  and  national  bankruptcy  the  conse- 
quence; and  to  crown  all,  the  paper  securities  of  new,  precarious,  tottering 
power,  the  discredited  paper  securities  of  impoverished  fraud,  and  beggared 
rapine,  held  out  as  a  currency  for  the  support  of  an  empire,  in  lieu  of  the  two 
great  recognized  species  that  represent  the  lasting  conventional  credit  of  man- 
kind, which  disappeared  and  hid  themselves  in  the  earth  from  whence  they 
came,  when  the  principle  of  property,  whose  creatures  and  representatives 
they  are,  was  systematically  subverted."     It  will  be  observed  how,  as   the 
sense  advances,  sentences,  and  clauses  within  a  sentence,  increase  uniformly 
in  length. 

3.  Neglect  of  climax,  or  bathos.     "  What  pen  can  describe  the  tears,  the 
lamentations,  the  agonies,  the  animated  remonstrances  of  the  unfortunate 
prisoners?"  —  "Such  a  derangement  as,  if  immediately  enforced,  must  have 
reduced  society  to  its  first  elements,  and  led  to  a  direct  collision  of  conflicting 
interests."    The  flat  effect  of  such  inadvertent  neglect  of  progress  is  obvious. 

Two  or  three  additional  remarks  on  climax  may  be  made. 

i.  Sometimes  an  intentional  anti-climax  is  employed  to  give 
a  special  quality,  usually  humor  or  satire,  to  a  statement.  This  is 
virtually  a  climax  built  on  a  new  principle ;  that  is,  while  it  de- 
creases in  intensity,  it  increases  as  uniformly  in  the  spirit  that  gives 
rise  to  it. 

EXAMPLES.  —  From  Macaulay :  "  Yet  these  stories  are  now  altogether  ex- 
ploded. They  have  been  abandoned  by  statesmen  to  aldermen,  by  aldermen  to 
clergymen,  by  clergymen  to  old  women,  and  by  old  women  to  Sir  Harcourt 
Lees."  —  From  George  Eliot :  "  When  George  the  Fourth  was  still  reigning 
over  the  privacies  of  Windsor,  when  the  Duke  of  Wellington  was  Prime  Min- 


^  //££/.#£.$•  OF  SP^C^.  107 

ister,  and  Mr.  Vincy  was  mayor  of  the  old  corporation  in  Middlemarch,  Mrs. 
Casaubon,  born  Dorothea  Brooke,  had  taken  her  wedding  journey  to  Rome." 
—  The  following,  from  De  Quincey's  "  Murder  Considered  as  one  of  the  Fine 
Arts,"  is  a  good  example  of  his  elaborate  humor:  "Never  tell  me  of  any 
special  work  of  art  you  are  meditating —  I  set  my  face  against  it  in  loto.  For, 
if  once  a  man  indulges  himself  in  murder,  very  soon  he  comes  to  think  little 
of  robbing;  and  from  robbing  he  comes  next  to  drinking  and  Sabbath-break- 
ing, and  from  that  to  incivility  and  procrastination.  Once  begin  upon  this 
downward  path,  you  never  know  where  you  are  to  stop.  Many  a  man  has 
dated  his  ruin  from  some  murder  or  other  that  perhaps  he  thought  little  of  at 
the  time." 

2.  The  negation  of  a  climax  is  naturally  made  in  inverse  order ; 
the  strongest  statement  being  denied  first.  A  climax  may  also  be 
virtually  negative  ;  that  is,  some  privative  particle,  such  as  without, 
against,  unless,  may  operate  to  reverse  the  order  of  statement. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. —  i.  The  action  of  Alabama  in  seceding  from  the  Union 
was  denounced  by  Republicans  as  the  consequence  of  "sudden,  spasmodic, 
and  violent  passion."  In  answering  this  charge,  the  order  would  naturally  be, 
"  The  action  of  Alabama  was  not  due  to  violent  passion,  nor  to  spasmodic,  nor 
even  to  sudden  passion." 

2.  The  following  are  virtually  negative :  "The  chances  were  millions  to  one 
against  its  success,  against  its  continued  existence."  —  "And  thus  he  enters 
public  life  before  he  has  any  convictions,  or  perceptions,  or  right  impressions 
even,  of  true  citizenship." 

3.  The  law  of  climax,  which  begins  with  the  sentence,  extends 
to  all  parts  of  a  discourse.     It  is  simply  the  law  of  uniform  prog- 
ress, employed  to  economize  the  reader's  interpreting  and  realizing 
power  by  increasing  intensity  and  amplitude  of  thought.      See 
preceding,  page  25. 


108  COMPOSITION. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

COMPOSITION. 

THUS  far  the  consideration  of  our  subject  has  had  to  do  mainly 
with  the  selection  of  material  for  style  ;  for  such  is  fundamentally 
the  task  recognized  in  choosing  words  and  estimating  figures  of 
speech.  As  we  have  seen,  this  work  of  selection  demands  not 
only  skill  and  judgment  for  the  occasion,  but  also  thorough  general 
discipline  in  carefulness,  patience,  scholarship,  and  taste.  We 
come  now  to  the  business  of  building  this  material  together  into 
literary  forms,  —  into  phrases,  sentences,  paragraphs ;  and  here 
the  same  discipline  is  required,  only  now  the  writer's  attention  is 
directed  to  combination^.  Out  of  the  scattered  elements  at  com- 
mand is  to  be  formed  a  structure  of  thought,  which  is  to  be  no 
crude  congeries  jumbled  together  as  it  happens,  but  a  unified, 
coherent,  organic  system.  It  is  to  such  skilled  combination  alone 
that  we  can  rightly  apply  the  name  style. 

This  part  of  the  writer's  work  has  its  distinctive  problems. 
How  words  are  related  to  one  another  grammatically ;  how  they 
sound  together ;  how  they  refer  to  what  precedes  or  prepare  for 
what  follows ;  how  their  position  is  so  to  be  determined  as  to 
give  them  force  and  distinction  in  themselves  or  make  them  a 
support  to  one  another,  —  such  questions  as  these  arise  at  every 
step,  questions  to  be  answered  only  by  constant  and  studious  at- 
tention to  the  logical  relations  of  the  thought. 

It  is  in  composition,  or  what  may  be  called  thought-structure, 
that  rhetoric  shows  its  close  relationship  to  grammar,  and  at  the 
same  time  its  fundamental  advance  beyond  that  science.  Gram- 
mar discovers  the  facts  of  'the  language,  from  which  it  formulates 
the  laws  of  correct  expression ;  and  these  laws  rhetoric  must  ob- 
serve, because  correctness  lies  necessarily  at  the  foundation  of  all 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  109 

intelligible  utterance,  rhetorical  or  other.  But  even  in  employing 
grammatical  processes  as  working-tools,  rhetoric  imparts  to  them 
a  new  quality  distinctively  rhetorical,  the  quality  by  which  they 
become  methods  in  an  art,  means  to  an  end.  That  is,  it  is  not 
mere  mechanism,  but  an  issue  and  a  purpose,  much  greater  than 
sentence-building  or  the  manipulation  of  a  theme,  that  controls 
the  rhetorical  combination  of  words,  —  the  purpose,  namely,  of 
adapting  thought  in  harmony  with  its  subject  and  occasion,  to  the 
various  requirements  and  capacities  of  readers  and  hearers. 

In  discussing,  therefore,  the  processes  of  composition,  we  are 
to  approach  each  principle,  so  to  say,  from  its  operative  side ;  that 
is,  we  are  to  view  it  in  the  light  of  its  adaptedness  to  promote 
some  end  in  thought  or  emotion,  of  its  power  toward  making  an 
idea,  according  to  our  design,  clear  or  emphatic  or  felicitous. 
These  processes  have  their  roots  partly  in  grammatical  laws  and 
principles ;  but  there  are  also  many  that  go  beyond  and  above  the 
scope  of  grammar,  into  the  more  distinctive  region  of  rhetorical 
structure. 

This  chapter  on  composition  comprises  three  sections :  on 
fundamental  processes ;  on  the  structure  of  the  sentence ;  and 
on  the  structure  of  the  paragraph. 


SECTION  FIRST. 
FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

UNDER  this  head  are  discussed  the  most  important  features  of 
grammatical  and  rhetorical  combination.  These  are  considered 
in  themselves,  as  principles  of  expression,  without  reference  to 
their  agency  in  the  construction  of  sentences  and  paragraphs. 
Some  of  the  processes  deal  only  with  verbal  combinations ;  others 
may  operate  over  a  broader  field,  equally  applicable,  it  may  be,  to 
a  single  sentence,  paragraph,  or  entire  discourse ;  but  so  long  as 


110  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

the  principle  is  the  same,  and  requires  one  mental  habit  for  its 
mastery,  it  is  best  considered  under  one  head,  be  its  scope  broad 

or  narrow. 

I.    SYNTAX. 

Every  coherent  assemblage  of  words  has  its  necessary  adjust- 
ments of  number,  case,  mood,  tense,  and  the  like,  which  are  to 
be  carefully  observed.  Not  all  of  these  syntactical  arrangements 
can  or  need  be  noticed  here  ;  it  will  be  sufficient  to  discuss  merely 
those  wherein  the  grammatical  principle  receives  a  special  signifi- 
cance or  modification  from  the  rhetorical  point  of  view. 

Concord  of  Subject  and  Verb.  —  The  strict  observance  of  the 
grammatical  rule  that  a  verb  must  agree  in  number  with  its  sub- 
ject is  of  special  rhetorical  importance  in  cases  where,  among  a 
number  of  words,  the  exact  subject  is  to  be  distinguished.  Other 
cases  occur  where  the  concord  is  to  be  determined  more  from  the 
idea  than  from  the  word. 

1.  Probably  the  most  frequent  source  of  error  in  concord  is, 
where  either  some  word  of  different  number,  or  several  subordi- 
nate details,  intervening  between  the  subject  and  the  verb,  may 
obscure  the  view  of  the  former,  and  attract  the  verb  to  the  differ- 
ent number  suggested.     This  error  is  to  be  avoided,  of  course, 
only  by  keeping  the  exact  subject  well  in  mind. 

EXAMPLES.  —  Subject  obscured  by  intervening  words :  "  The  enormous  ex- 
pense of  governments  have  provoked  men  to  think,  by  making  them  feel."  — 
"  This  large  homestead,  including  a  large  barn  and  beautiful  garden,  are  to 
be  sold  next  month." 

Subject  obscured  by  details :  "  But  these  Personal  Memoirs  of  U.  S.  Grant, 
written  as  simply  and  straightforwardly  as  his  battles  were  fought,  couched  in 
the  most  unpretentious  phrase,  with  never  a  touch  of  grandiosity  or  attitudiniz- 
ing, familiar,  homely,  even  common  in  style,  is  a  great  piece  of  literature,  be- 
cause great  literature  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  clear  expression  of 
minds  that  have  something  great  in  them,  whether  religion,  or  beauty,  or  deep 
experience." 

2.  Subjects   connected   by  conjunctions   often  require   careful 
management,  because  what  is  grammatically  of  one  number  may 
sometimes  be  logically  the  opposite. 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  Ill 

Thus,  singular  subjects  connected  by  and  may  merely  be  synony- 
mous words  reiterating  the  one  subject,  or  a  closely  connected 
couple  making  up  together  but  a  single  idea ;  requiring  therefore 
a  singular  verb.  In  some  cases  also  singular  subjects  connected 
by  or  may  be  more  truly  a  connected  than  a  disjoined  couple,  and 
require  either  a  plural  verb  or  —  more  frequently  —  a  recast. 

EXAMPLES.  —  Synonymous  words :  "All  the  furniture,  the  stock  of  shops, 
the  machinery  which  could  he  found  in  the  realm,  was  of  less  value  than 
the  property  which  some  single  parishes  now  contain."  Here  the  writer 
(Macaulay)  evidently  views  the  three  subjects  as  making  together  only  a 
single  idea,  being  practically  synonymous. 

Combined  couples :  "  The  composition  and  resolution  of  forces  was  largely 
applied  by  Newton."  —  "The  ebb  and  flow  of  the  tides  is  now  understood." 

False  disjunction :  "The  Army  or  the  Navy  answer  to  that  description." 
On  this  sentence  Professor  Bain  remarks,  "  There  is  no  real  disjunction  in 
such  a  case;  the  Army  does  not  exclude  the  Navy,  the  predicate  applies  to 
each  and  to  both."  This  construction,  however,  is  unnecessarily  awkward, 
and  rather  than  use  it  the  writer  would  do  better  to  recast  his  sentence. 

3.  Unless,  however,  there  is  special  reason  to  emphasize  the 
unity  or  plurality  of  the  idea,  it  is  worth  some  painstaking  to 
avoid  such  clashes  in  the  concord  of  connected  subjects.  In 
most  cases  this  can  be  effected  without  difficulty,  by  choosing 
some  verbal  form  that  is  neutral  in  number,  or  by  changing  the 
structure  of  the  sentence. 

EXAMPLES. — The  following  illustrates  a  not  infrequent  case:  "Only  a  few, 
perhaps  only  one,  were  (or  was  ?~)  benefited."  This  clash  may  be  evaded  by 
choosing  a  verb  with  the  same  form  for  both  numbers,  —  e.g.,  "  received  any 
benefit." 

In  the  following  example,  where,  "  though  the  verb  should  formally  be 
singular,  still  the  number  of  alternate  subjects  is  strongly  suggestive  of  plu- 
rality," the  difficulty  is  evaded,  as  above,  by  the  employment  of  a  neutral 

verb  :  "  '  "  Truths  that  wake 

To  perish  never; 
Which  neither  listlessness,  nor  mad  endeavor, 

Nor  man,  nor  boy, 
Nor  all  that  is  at  enmity  with  joy, 
Can  utterly  abolish  or  destroy !  " 

The  verbal  forms  with  auxiliaries  are  of  especial  use  in  evading  clashes  of 
ancord. 


112  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

4.  The  number  of  the  verb  used  with  a  collective  noun  must  be 
determined  according  to  the  logical  predominance  of  the  singular 
or  the  plural  idea.     This  is  often  a  nice  point  to  settle,  and  some- 
times indeed  must  be  left  to  the  writer's  individual  interpretation  ; 
the  main  caution,  however,  is,  that  the  point  be  definitely  settled, 
not  left  without  care. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "  The  Jewish  people  were  all  free."  Here  plurality  predomi- 
nates, the  subject  being  the  Jews  regarded  as  individuals.  "  An  evil  and 
adulterous  generation  seckelh  after  a  sign."  Here  the  action  is  so  collective 
as  to  make  a  singular  verb  suitable. 

In  the  following  the  concord  of  the  collective  seems  to  have  been  disre- 
garded, or  else  not  wisely  judged  :  "The  study  of  the  moon's  surface  has  been 
continued  now  from  the  time  of  Galileo,  and  of  late  years  a  whole  class  of 
competent  observers  has  been  devoted  to  it,  so  that  astronomers  engaged  in 
other  branches  have  oftener  looked  on  this  as  a  field  for  occasional  hours  of 
recreation  with  the  telescope  than  made  it  a  constant  study." 1 

Tense.  —  It  is  of  special  rhetorical  importance  to  notice  com- 
binations of  tenses,  and  modifications  of  tense  due  to  the  kind  of 
idea  presented,  or  to  some  particular  effect  sought. 

5.  In  dependent  clauses  and  infinitives  the  tense  is  to  be  counted 
relatively  to  the  principal  assertion,  not  absolutely  in  itself. 

EXAMPLES.  —  In  the  sentence,  "  He  intended  to  have  gone,"  the  tense  of 
the  infinitive  is  incorrect,  because  it  ought  to  be  counted,  not  from  the  present 
time,  but  from  the  time  of  the  intention;  and  relatively  to  that  time  it  is 
future,  —  "  He  intended  logo."  —  "And  so,  you  see,  the  thing  never  would 
have  been  looked  into  at  all,  if  I  hadn't  happened  to  have  been  down  there." 
—  "No  writer  would  write  a  book  unless  he  thinks  it  will  be  read."  Say 
either,  "  No  writer  will,"  etc.,  or,  "  unless  he  thought  it  would"  etc. 

In  the  use  of  the  verb  "  should  like  "  the  mistake  is  very  commonly  made 
of  interchanging  the  tense  of  the  principal  verb  and  the  infinitive, —  "  I  should 
like  to  have  seen  him,"  instead  of  "  I  should  have  liked  to  see  him."  This  is 
owing,  no  doubt,  to  the  difficulty  of  pronouncing  "  like^/  to,"  when  they  are 
placed  together;  a  difficulty  which,  however,  should  not  be  allowed  to  make 
the  difference  between  accuracy  and  error.  The  following  sentence,  from 

l  For  an  excellent  discussion  of  Concord,  from  which  the  above  examples  are 
largely  adopted,  the  student  is  referred  to  Bain's  "  Composition  Grammar,"  pages 
282-295. 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  113 

Howells,  illustrates  the  correct  use :  "  There  were  some  questions  that  she 
would  have  liked  to  ask  him;  but  she  had  to  content  herself  with  trying  to 
answer  them  when  her  husband  put  them  to  her." 

6.  General  and  universal  truths  are  essentially  timeless.     In  ex- 
pressing them,  therefore,  the  present  tense  is  required,  whatever 
the  tense  of  the  accompanying  verbs. 

EXAMPLE.  —  "  He  perceived  clearly  that  this  world  is  governed  by  an  all- 
wise  and  beneficent  Ruler."  This  truth,  being  in  no  way  affected  by  the  time 
at  which  it  is  perceived,  requires  the  present  tense. 

7.  When  a  past  occurrence  is  to  be  narrated  with  special  vivid- 
ness it  is  often  treated  as  if  taking  place  in  the  present.     This 
so-called  "  historic  present  "  is  a  very  effectual  means  of  giving  life 
to  a  narrative ;  but  it  may  also  easily  be  overdone.     It  is  not  to 
be  employed  unless  there  is  a  real  demand  for  vividness;  and 
when  once  adopted  it  should  be  kept  consistent  throughout  the 
passage. 

EXAMPLES. — -In  the  following  passage  the  historic  present  is  carelessly 
mixed  with  the  past :  "  The  Romans  now  turn  aside  in  quest  of  provisions. 
The  Helvetians  mistook  the  movement  for  retreat.  They  pursue,  and  give 
Caesar  his  chance.  They  fight  at  disadvantage,  and  after  a  desperate  struggle 
are  defeated." 

In  the  following  passage,  from  Dickens,  the  historic  present  is  used  advisedly 
and  skilfully,  with  noticeable  care  in  the  transition  from  one  tense  to  the  other:  — 

"  Let  me  remember  how  it  used  to  be,  and  bring  one  morning  back  again. 

I  come  into  the  second-best  parlor  after  breakfast,  with  my  books,  and  an 
exercise-book,  and  a  slate.  My  mother  is  ready  for  me  at  her  writing-desk, 
but  not  half  so  ready  as  Mr.  Murdstone  in  his  easy-chair  by  the  window 
(though  he  pretends  to  be  reading  a  book),  or  as  Miss  Murdstone,  sitting 
near  my  mother  stringing  steel  beads."  [After  a  page  or  so  of  this  reminis- 
cence in  the  historic  present,  the  story  is  brought  back  to  the  ordinary  past 
tense  of  narration  by  the  remark,  beginning  a  new  paragraph]  :  — 

"  It  seems  to  me,  at  this  distance  of  time,  as  if  my  unfortunate  studies 
generally  took  this  course."  [And  from  here  onward  the  tense  is  past.] 

Shall  and  Will.  —  The  niceties  of  idiom  in  the  use  of  these 
auxiliaries  arise  from  the  original  sense  of  the  words,  still  inherent 
in  them;  and  regulating  their  usage  by  the  feeling  of  propriety, 


114  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

according  as  the  writer  predicates  the  action  of  himself  or  of  some 
second  or  third  person. 

"  The  radical  signification  of  will  (Anglo-Saxon  willari)  is  pur- 
pose, intention,  determination  ;  that  of  shall  (Anglo-Saxon  sceal, 
ought)  is  obligation."  l  To  these  primary  meanings  we  trace  the 
rationale  of  usage  in  the  different  persons. 

8.  Obligation  imposed  on  self  implies  that  what  ought  to  be 
will  be ;  hence  shall,  in  the  first  person,  is  the  simple  auxiliary  of 
the  future.  Imposed  on  others,  it  has  the  force  of  a  command  ; 
hence,  in  the  second  and  third  persons,  shall  is  the  indicator  of 
authority  or  necessity.  Purpose  or  determination  predicated  of 
self  has  force  merely  for  what  it  says ;  hence  will,  in  the  first  per- 
son, simply  indicates  the  writer's  volition.  Predicated  of  others  it 
implies,  by  a  natural  courtesy,  fulfilment  of  what  is  willed  ;  hence, 
in  the  second  and  third  persons,  will  is  the  simple  auxiliary  of  the 
future. 

EXAMPLES. —  i.  Simple  future,  a.  Obligation  become  announcement :  "I 
shall  set  about  this  work  to-morrow."  b.  Volition  implying  fulfilment : 
"  You  -will  not  go  far  in  this  course  of  action  ";  "  He  will  be  rash,  if  he  com- 
mits himself  to  the  uncertainties  of  this  measure."  In  most  cases  of  will  with 
second  and  third  persons  the  volitional  force  has  entirely  given  place  to  the 
future. 

2.  Determined  future,  a.  By  the  speaker's  volition  on  himself :  "  I  will 
follow  up  this  quest,  despite  its  hardships  and  perils."  b.  By  obligation  im- 
posed on  another,  the  determination  of  the  speaker  passing  over,  as  it  were, 
to  the  person  or  thing  spoken  to  or  of,  thus  making  shall  in  second  and  third 
persons  much  like  will  in  the  first :  "  Thou  shall  not  bear  false  witness  against 
thy  neighbor";  "The  style  shall  be  simple  and  familiar:  but  style  is  the 
image  of  character;  and  the  habits  of  correct  writing  may  produce,  without 
labor  or  design,  the  appearance  of  art  and  study."  This  last  was  written  by 
Gibbon  concerning  the  style  of  his  projected  Autobiography. 

Shall,  with  its  implied  obligation,  may  have  many  degrees  of  effect,  from 
command  or  threat  to  mere  promise.  Should  and  would  follow  the  same  rules 
as  shall  and  will. 

1  Quoted  from  White,  "  Words  and  their  Uses,"  p.  266.  His  treatment  of  these 
words,  pp.  264-273,  is  excellent.  See  also,  McElroy,  "  Structure  of  English  Prose," 
pp.  108-111.  Only  an  outline  from  the  rhetorical  point  of  view  is  given  above; 
minutiae  of  usage  and  exceptions  must  be  left  to  grammar,  where  they  properly  belong. 


FUNDAMENTAL   PROCESSES.  115 

9.  There  is  a  fine  use  of  shall,  with  the  second  and  third  per- 
sons, as  a  verb  of  exemplification  or  prophecy ;    enough  of  its 
original  sense  of  obligation  being  retained  to  give  especial  strength, 
certainty,  or  distinction  to  the  prediction. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "And  what  do  we  see  in  actual  life?  There  shall  be  two 
men,  one  of  whom  has  started  on  the  road  of  self-improvement  from  a  mainly 
intellectual  interest  .  .  .  ;  the  other  has  begun  with  some  sense  of  God,  and 
of  his  relation  to  Him,"  etc.  —  "  You  shall  hear  the  same  persons  say  that 
'  George  Barnwell '  is  very  natural,  and  '  Othello  '  is  very  natural,  that  they 
are  both  very  deep;  and  to  them  they  are  the  same  kind  of  thing." 

Participles.  —  The  participial  construction  is  a  convenient 
means  of  condensation ;  it  also  promotes  flexibility  of  style  by 
obviating  the  too  constant  recurrence  of  principal  verbs.  Being, 
however,  a  subordinated  construction,  it  needs  careful  adjustment 
to  the  principal  assertion  on  which  it  depends. 

10.  A  frequent  error  of  hasty  writers  is  what  is  called  the  "  mis- 
related  participle,"   that  is,  a  participle  employed  without  clear 
indication  of  the  word  to  which  it  belongs.     Whenever  a  partici- 
pial construction  is  used,  the  exact  noun  or  pronoun  to  which  the 
participle  is  attached  should  appear,  in  an  unambiguous  position. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "Being  exceedingly  fond  of  birds,  an  aviary  is  always  to  be 
found  in  the  grounds."  Here  there  is  no  clue  to  the  person  or  persons  fond 
of  birds,  and  the  only  word  to  which  the  participle  may  be  grammatically 
attached  is  "  aviary." 

"  While  visiting  St.  Louis  with  him  (General  Grant)  while  he  was  Presi- 
dent, he  made  a  characteristic  remark  showing  how  little  his  thoughts  dwelt 
upon  those  events  of  his  life  which  made  such  a  deep  impression  upon  others." 
lere  the  writer  meant  "  When  /  was  visiting  St.  Louis,"  etc. 

When  a  participial  construction  constitutes  the  first  part  of  a 
mtence,  the  word  in  the  second  part  to  which  it  relates  is  gener- 
ly  the  subject  and  takes  the  chief  place ;  sometimes,  however, 
vhen  there  is  no  reasonable  danger  of  ambiguity,  it  may  have  a 
place  and  office  less  prominent,  though  not  remain  unexpressed. 

EXAMPLE.  —  From  Southey  :  "  Writing  for  a  livelihood,  a  livelihood  is  all 
that  /  have  gained;  for,  having  also  something  better  in  view,  and  never, 


116  FUNDAMENTAL   PROCESSES. 

therefore,  having  courted  popularity,  nor  written  for  the  mere  sake  of  gain,  it 
has  not  been  possible  for  me  to  lay  by  anything." 

11.  The  participial  construction  is  generally  equivalent   to   a 
clause;    and  whenever  the  omission  would  cause  ambiguity  or 
vagueness,  the  conjunctional   relation  of  the   clause   should   be 
retained  with  the  participle. 

EXAMPLE.  — "  Republics,  in  the  first  instance,  are  never  desired  for  their 
own  sakes.  I  do  not  think  they  will  finally  be  desired  at  all,  unaccompanied 
by  courtly  graces  and  good  breeding."  Here  there  is  doubt  whether  the 
meaning  is,  "  because  [they  are]  unaccompanied,"  or  "  if  [they  are]  unaccom- 
panied,"—  a  doubt  which  should  be  precluded  by  retaining  the  conjunction 
proper  to  the  clause. 

Infinitives.  —  Errors  in  modifying  infinitives,  and  in  managing 
series  of  infinitives,  are  the  most  frequent. 

12.  The  infinitive  should  not  be  divided  by  an  adverb  between 
the  preposition  to  and  the  verb.     The  adverb  belongs  to  the  whole 
expression,  and  should  therefore  stand  either  before  or  after,  not 
in  the  midst  of  it. 

EXAMPLES.  —  (Quoted  from  A.  S.  Hill's  Rhetoric.)  "  He's  not  the  man  to 
tamely  acquiesce."  —  "  To  an  active  mind  it  may  be  easier  to  bear  along  all  the 
qualifications  of  an  idea,  and  at  once  rightly  form  it  when  named,  than  to  first 
imperfectly  conceive  such  idea." 

13.  Where  several  infinitives  occur  together,  the  word  on  which 
each  one  depends  is  to  be  made  obvious.     Care  in  this  respect  is 
made  necessary  by  the  fact  that  an  infinitive  following  another  may 
with  equal  correctness  be  either  subordinate  to  or  coordinate  with 
the  other;  its  office  and  rank  should  therefore  be  evident. 

NOTE.  —  One  or  two  aids  to  clearness  may  be  mentioned.  Two  infinitives 
coordinate  with  each  other  may  be  closely  connected  by  omitting  the  preposi- 
tion to  with  the  second.  The  dependence  of  infinitives  may  often  be  made 
obvious,  while  the  sense  also  is  made  clearer,  by  distinguishing  between  the 
infinitive  of  sequence, (to)  and  the  infinitive  of  purpose  (in  order  to). 

The  following,  with  its  comment,  is  taken  from  Abbott's  "  How  to  Write 
Clearly."  " '  He  said  that  he  wished  to  take  his  friend  with  him  to  visit  the 
capital  and  to  study  medicine.'  Here  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  meaning  is  — 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  117 

1  He  said  that  he  wished  to  take  his  friend  with  him, 

(1)  and  also  to  visit  the  capital  and  study  medicine,'  or 

(2)  '  that  his  friend  might  visit  the  capital  and  might  also  study  medicine,'  or 

(3)  '  on  a  visit  to  the  capital,  and  that  he  also  wished  to  study  medicine.'  " 
If  in  the  above  examples  we  adopt  the  two  aids  mentioned,  the  sentence 

becomes,  "  He  said  that  he  wished  to  take  his  friend  with  him  in  order  to  visit 
the  capital  and  ^  study  medicine,"  which  gives  clear  sense  in  one  aspect.  For 
other  senses  it  may  b§  necessary  to  use  that  for  to,  or  to  insert  conjunctions. 

II.    COLLOCATION. 

The  English  syntax,  being  devoid  of  the  aid  that  inflection  would 
give  in  showing  the  relation  of  words,  is  all  the  more  dependent  on 
order  and  collocation.  It  depends  on  these  first  of  all  for  clear- 
ness ;  for  a  qualifying  element  may  have  its  attachment  either  in 
what  precedes  or  in  what  follows,  and  often,  if  carelessly  placed, 
may  with  equal  reason  be  counted  in  either  direction.  A  frequent 
problem,  therefore,  is,  how  to  remove  ambiguity  and  give  the 
modifier  unmistakably  the  connection  intended.  The  requirements 
of  force,  also,  have  their  problems ;  for  the  same  element  may  be 
emphatic  in  one  position  and  comparatively  insignificant  in  another. 
And  the  question  how  to  give  an  idea  force  according  to  its  impor- 
tance is  for  the  most  part  a  question  of  position. 

To  secure  both  clearness  and  distinction  it  is  imperative  that 
words,  phrases,  and  clauses  grammatically  connected  should  be 
placed  as  near  together  as  possible,  or,  if  separated,  that  they  should 
make  up  in  prominence  for  what  they  lose  in  proximity. 

Placing  of  Words.  —  The  prevailing  problem  in  the  collocation 
of  words  is  the  problem  of  emphasis  —  how  to  place  a  word  so 
that  it  shall  have  its  proper  distinction  or  lack  of  distinction,  ac- 
cording to  its  significance. 

14.  The  natural  position  of  the  simple  adjective  is  before  its 
noun.  This  order  of  collocation  is  so  well  established  that  "  marked  - 
divergencies  arrest  the  attention,  and  have,  by  reason  of  their 
exceptional  character,  a  force  which  may  be  converted  into  a  use- 
ful rhetorical  effect."  Accordingly,  inversion  of  the  natural  order 
may  on  occasion  be  "  proper  to  poetry  and  high  style ;  and  it  is 


US  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

one  of  the  traces  which  early  French  culture  has  left  on  our 
literature."  l 

NOTE.  —  The  placing  of  the  adjective  by  inversion  after  its  noun  gives  it  a 
prominence  above  the  noun;  that  is,  the  interest  centres  in  the  quality  rather 
than  in  the  thing  qualified.  This  may  be  seen  in  examples  like  the  following. 
"  Having  been  successively  subject  to  all  these  influences,  our  language  has 
become  as  it  were  a  sort  of  centre  to  which  beauties  the  most  opposite  con- 
verge."   "  But  at  last,  and  even  here,  it  seemed  as  if  the  years  of  this  loyal 

and  eager  poet  had  felicities  too  many." 

Hence  we  find  the  adjective  following  its  noun  sometimes  when,  by  repeti- 
tion or  otherwise,  the  noun  is  already  so  prominently  before  the  reader's  at- 
tention as  to  need  no  stress,  and  when  the  stress  is  of  use  in  multiplying 
qualities;  as  in  the  following,  from  Dr.  John  Brown :  — 

"  The  crowd  round  a  couple  of  dogs  fighting  is  a  crowd  masculine  mainly, 
with  an  occasional  active,  compassionate  woman,  fluttering  wildly  round  the 
outside,  and  using  her  tongue  and  hands  freely  upon  the  men,  as  so  many 
'brutes';  it  is  a  crowd  annular,  compact,  and  mobile;  a  crowd  centripetal, 
having  its  eyes  and  its  heads  all  bent  downwards  and  inwards,  to  one  common 
focus." 

15.  The  position  of  the  article,  demonstrative  pronoun,  or  pos- 
sessive, is  immediately  before  the  adjective,  with  at  most  an  adverb 
between.  There  is  a  tendency,  however,  due  to  recent  German 
influence,  to  encumber  the  adjective  with  adjuncts  of  its  own,  so 
that  "  we  not  unfrequently  find  a  second  adverb,  or  an  adverbial 
phrase,  or  a  negative,  included  in  the  interval  between  the  article 
or  pronoun  and  the  substantive."  This  structure  is  not  fully  natu- 
ralized, and  is  in  itself  so  cumbrous  that  the  attitude  of  suspicion 
toward  it  is  safest. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "  The,  I  believe  of  Eastern  derivation,  monosyllable  '  Bosh.' " 
This  sentence,  from  Thackeray,  would  probably  not  have  been  justified  by  him 
in  any  but  the  most  familiar  style.  —The  following  is  from  a  book  on  Brittany  : 
"  I  have  now  travelled  through  nearly  every  Department  in  France,  and  I  do 
not  remember  ever  meeting  with  a  dirty  bed :  this,  I  fear,  cannot  be  said  of 
our  happily  in  all  other  respects  cleaner  island." 

1  Earle,  "  Philology  of  the  English  Tongue,"  p.  520, 


FUNDAMENTAL   PROCESSES.  119 

1 6.  The  natural  unemphatic  place  of  an  adverbial  word  is  just 
before  its  verb,  or  between  the  parts  of  a  compound  verb.    The 
placing  of  an  adverb  after  its  verb  gives  it  emphasis. 

EXAMPLES. —  I.  In  the  following  sentence  the  adverb,  while  important,  is 
not  emphatic :  "  Each  man  gains  a  power  of  realizing  and  firmly  conceiving 
those  things  he  habitually  deals  with,  and  not  other  things."  Here  the  real 
emphasis  is  on  the  verb. 

2.  Compare  now  the  effect  of  placing  the  adverb  after  the  verb :  "  He 
writes  passionately,  because  he  feels  keenly ;  forcibly,  because  he  feels  -vividly; 
he  sees  too  clearly  to  be  vague;  he  is  too  serious  to  be  otiose,"  etc.  Here 
the  adverb  is  so  strong  an  element  that  in  one  instance  ("  forcibly  ")  it  even 
stands  alone. 

1 7.  Of  single- word  adverbs,  the  one  that  requires  most  care  in 
placing,  and  that  is  oftenest  misplaced,  is  only.      The  difficulty 
arises  from  the  fact  that  only  may  have  equal  significance  before 
substantives,  adjectives,  verbs,  or  adverbs ;  and  so  if  it  is  separated 
from  the  word  it  modifies,  some  word  that  could  usurp  its  relation 
is  almost  sure  to  intervene.     The  endeavor  should  be  made,  there- 
fore, to  place  it,  if  possible,  immediately  before  the  word  to  which 
it  belongs. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "  For  fifty  miles,  the  river  could  only  be  distinguished  from 
the  ocean  by  its  calmness  and  discolored  water."  Strictly  speaking,  this 
means,  "could  be  no  more  than  distinguished";  but  what  is  meant,  and  what 
should  be  said,  is,  "  could  be  distinguished  only  by,"  etc.  It  is  undoubtedly  a 
fact,  due  to  the  so  frequent  misplacing  of  only,  that  people  make  the  adjust- 
ment of  sense  unconsciously;  but  this  should  not  be  taken  as  an  excuse  for 
the  incorrect  usage. 

Sometimes  only  is  awkwardly  used  with  an  intended  backward  reference,  an 
office  that  the  word  alone  would  better  fulfil.  For  example  :  "  The  first  two 
named  only  ascended  to  the  summit";  which  means  strictly  "did  no  more 
than  ascend  to  the  summit,"  implying  that  others  ascended  higher  than  the 
summit.  "  The  first  two  named  alone"  or,  "  Of  the  party,  two  alone  went 
to  the  summit."  In  spoken  discourse  one  may  sometimes  trust  to  intonation 
and  pause  to  make  only  restrict  a  word  before,  as  in  "  I  only  am  to  blame  "; 
but  in  written  composition  it  is  better  to  adhere  to  the  strict  rule,  that  only 
should  immediately  precede  the  word  to  which  it  belongs. 


120  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

Placing  of  Phrases. — In  the  collocation  of  phrases  the  pre- 
vailing problem  is,  how  to  secure  clearness  in  the  reference  of  the 
phrase. 

1 8.  A  genitive,  or  of-phrase,  being  the  closest  of  prepositional 
relations,  should  be  placed  if  possible  immediately  after  the  word 
it  modifies ;  and  especially  with  no  word  between,  either  noun  or 
verb,  that  can  usurp  the  relation. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "  And  worst  of  all,  the  heavy  pall  hangs  over  all  the  land  of 
Birmingham  smoke,  which,  with  a  northerly  wind,  blots  all  the  color  out  of 
the  country,  turns  the  blue  sky  to  a  dull  brown,  makes  dusky  shadows  under  the 
elm  tops,  and  hides  the  distance  in  a  thin  veil  of  London  fog."  The  part 
between  the  noun  and  its  genitive,  italicized  above,  contains  a  word  ("  land  ") 
that  produces  confusion;  it  might  be  read,  "land  of  Birmingham  smoke." 

"  The  springs  and  sources  ivere  unsealtd  of  modern  ideas,  modern  systems, 
and  of  ideas  and  systems  that  are  still  to  be  developed."  Here  the  verb  comes 
between  the  noun  and  its  genitive,  and  the  construction,  at  best  inelegant,  is 
excusable  only  on  the  ground  that  it  is  not  likely  to  be  understood  "  were 
unsealed  of  modern  ideas." 

19.  Phrases  adverbial   in  office  are,  perhaps  of  all   sentence- 
members,  most  liable  to  ambiguous  placing,  and  by  consequence 
not  infrequently  ludicrous  in  effect.     For  the  avoidance  of  such 
ambiguity  only  the  general  rule  can  be  given  "  that  what  is  to  be 
thought  of  first  should  be  mentioned  first,  and  that  things  to  be 
thought  of  together  should  be  placed  in  close  conjunction."  *   The 
question  to  be  settled  by  careful  study  in  each  individual  case  is 
the  question  of  near  or  remote  relation ;  and  collocation  is  to  be 
managed  accordingly. 

EXAMPLES.  —  From  a  leading  newspaper :  "  Base-ball  managers  must  look 
at  this  pleasant  weather  and  think  of  the  opportunity  they  have  let  slip  to  fill 
their  coffers  to  overflowing  with  anything  but  pleasure.''1  Here  so  much  inter- 
venes between  the  phrase  and  what  it  modifies  that  a  new  word  capable  of  the 
same  modification  has  inadvertently  slipped  in. 

A  few  other  examples,  in  which  the  same  disregard  of  near  and  remote 
relations  may  be  discerned,  are  here  quoted  from  Hodgson :  "  He  blew  out  his 
brains  after  bidding  his  wife  good-by  with  a  gun."  "  Erected  to  the  memory 

1  Hodgson,  "  Errors  in  the  Use  of  English,"  p.  183. 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  121 

of  John  Phillips  accidentally  shot  as  a  mark  of  affection  by  his  brother."  "The 
Board  of  Education  has  resolved  to  erect  a  building  large  enough  to  accommo- 
date 500  students  three  stories  high."  The  foregoing  seem  extreme  cases 
merely  because  the  effect  is  ludicrous;  but  the  fault  is  just  the  same  in  the 
following.  "  Sir  Morton  Peto  spoke  of  the  notion  that  the  national  debt  might 
be  repudiated  with  absolute  contempt."  "  People  have  been  crying  out  that 
Germany  never  could  be  an  aggressive  power  a  great  deal  too  soon."  "  It  is 
curious  to  see  how  very  little  is  said  on  the  subject  treated  in  the  present  essay, 
by  the  great  writers  on  jurisprudence." 

Such  adverbs  as  at  least,  at  all  events,  probably,  perhaps, 
indeed,  are  often  placed  ambiguously  between  two  emphatic 
elements  of  the  sentence,  where  their  influence  may  be  reckoned 
either  backward  or  forward.  Such  a  position  is  therefore  to  be 
shunned. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "I  think  you  will  find  my  Latin  exercise,  at  all  events,  as 
good  as  my  cousin's."  Does  this  mean,  "  My  Latin  exercise  at  all  events,"  or 
"as  good  as  my  cousin's  at  all  events"?  Either  of  these  orders  would  be 
unambiguous.  "  Disturbance  was  not  indeed  infrequently  caused  by  the  sum- 
mary arrest  of  fugitive  slaves  in  various •  parts  of  the  North."  Better:  "Not 
infrequently,  indeed,  disturbance  was  caused,"  etc. 

Placing  of  Clauses.  — The  chief  error  in  the  placing  of  clauses 
arises  from  the  ambiguous  mixture  of  dependent  and  principal  ele- 
ments of  the  sentence. 

20.  Dependent  clauses  introduced  by  if,  unless,  though,  that,  and 
the  like,  should  be  kept  clearly  distinct  from  principal  clauses  in 
the  same  sentence.  The  fact  that  the  influence  of  such  a  con- 
junction may  extend  beyond  its  own  clause  into  the  next  makes 
the  proper  coordination  of  the  second  clause  a  matter  of  some 
difficulty ;  either  by  changed  order  or  by  the  use  of  directive  par- 
ticles, therefore,  sentence-members  of  like  rank  should  be  grouped 
together. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "The  lesson  intended  to  be  taught  by  these  manoeuvres  will 
be  lost,  if  the  plan  of  operations  is  laid  down  too  definitely  beforehand,  and 
the  affair  degenerates  into  a  mere  review."  Is  the  coordination  here  —  "  the 
lesson  .  .  .  and  the  affair,"  or  "  if  the  plan  .  .  .  and  [if]  the  affair  "  ?  Cor- 
rected by  change  of  order :  "  If  the  plan  of  operations  is  laid  down  too  defi- 


122  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

nitely  beforehand,  the  lesson  intended  .  .  .  will  be  lost,  and  the  affair  degen- 
erates," etc.  Or :  "  If  the  plan  of  operations  is  laid  down  too  definitely 
beforehand,  and  the  affair  degenerates  ...  the  lesson  intended,"  etc.  Cor- 
rected (according  to  one  sense)  by  particle :  "  The  lesson  intended  to  be  taught 
will  be  lost,  if  the  plan  is  laid  down  too  definitely  beforehand,  and  thus 
the  affair  degenerates  (will  degenerate)  into  a  mere  review.^ 

"  He  replied  that  he  wished  to  help  them,  and  intended  to  make  prepara- 
tions accordingly."  Corrected  by  repetition :  "  He  replied  that  he  wished  to 
help  them,  and  that  he  intended  to  make  preparations  accordingly."  Corrected 
(according  to  the  other  sense)  by  particle :  "  He  replied  that  he  wished  to 
help  them,  and  indeed  he  intended  to  make  preparations  accordingly."  The 
indeed  coordinates  the  last  clause  with  "  he  replied." 

Especial  care  is  to  be  taken  of  a  that-clause  within  a  that-clause;  for 
example :  "  Some  faint  elements  of  reason  being  discernible  in  the  brute  it  is 
not  enough  to  prove  that  a  process  is  not  a  process  of  reason,  that  something 
approaching  to  it  is  seen  in  the  brute."  Here  a  recast  is  needed,  beginning, 
"  The  fact  that  something  approaching  ...  is  not  enough  to  prove,"  etc. 


III.    RETROSPECTIVE   REFERENCE. 

This  term  is  here  adopted  to  designate  the  office  of  any  word 
that  requires  for  its  interpretation  some  word  or  construction  pre- 
ceding. Under  the  term  are  included  demonstrative  pronouns 
and  adverbs,  relative  pronouns  and  adverbs,  and  phrases  of  refer- 
ence, —  in  general,  whatever  is  to  be  referred  for  its  meaning  to 
an  antecedent. 

In  the  whole  range  of  composition  there  is  no  process  oftener 
mismanaged  than  retrospective  reference.  The  mismanagement 
results  not  from  ignorance,  but  from  haste  and  carelessness ;  the 
writer,  in  his  ardor  to  continue  his  thought,  does  not  stay  to  look 
back,  but  trusts  to  chance  for  accuracy.  It  is  of  especial  value  in 
this  process  to  form  the  habit,  in  the  case  of  any  backward  refer- 
ring word,  of  looking  back  at  once  and  making  all  necessary  adjust- 
ments before  proceeding.  Such  a  habit  once  thoroughly  confirmed 
need  not  check  or  retard  the  current  of  thought,  and  will  save 
much  trouble  of  recasting  afterwards. 

NOTE.  —  The  range  and  character  of  retrospective  reference  will  be  indi- 
cated in  the  subjoined  tabular  view. 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 


123 


TABLE  OF   RETROSPECTIVE   REFERENCE. 

DEMONSTRATIVES. 

RELATIVES. 

I. 

Person  and  Thing-Reference. 

he  she  it 
this 
these 
the  former 

they 
that 
those 
the  latter 

who 
which 
that 

II.   Place-Reference. 

here 
hence 
hither 

there 
thence 
thither 

where 
whence 
whither 

III.  Time-Reference. 

now 

then 

when  while 

From  the  above  table  it  will  be  seen  that  reference  may  be  made  to  a  per- 
son or  thing,  to  a  place,  or  to  a  time;  and  that  any  of  these  antecedents  may 
be  either  definitely  pointed  out  (by  a  demonstrative),  or  taken  for  granted  (by 
a  relative).  Further,  it  will  be  noticed  that  when  the  antecedent  is  pointed 
out  it  may  be  recognized  as  either  near  or  remote,  and  hence  for  each  of  the 
demonstratives  (with  the  exception  of  the  personal  pronoun)  there  are  two 
forms,  to  indicate  these  two  varieties  of  relation.  When  the  antecedent  is 
taken  for  granted,  such  discrimination  is  not  so  necessary. 

Discrimination  of  the  Antecedent.  — Owing  to  the  lack  of  inflec- 
tion in  English,  the  means  for  discriminating  between  two  or  more 
possible  antecedents  are  somewhat  meagre.  The  unaided  pronoun 
of  the  singular  number,  he,  she,  it,  has  the  power  of  discriminating 
only  between  the  sexes,  and  between  persons  and  things ;  while 
the  plural,  they,  can  discriminate  only  between  one  object  and  sev- 


124  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

eral.  As  a  consequence,  in  the  general  problem  how  to  remove 
ambiguity  or  vagueness  of  reference,  questions  of  order,  prominence, 
proximity,  repetition,  and  the  like,  assume  cardinal  importance. 

NOTE.  —  Before  proceeding  to  the  discussion  of  means,  it  may  be  desirable 
to  give  some  examples  illustrating  the  most  frequent  cases  of  carelessness,  and 
the  most  frequent  devices  for  overcoming  difficulties  of  reference. 

1.  The  following  examples  will  illustrate  prevailing  carelessness  in  retro- 
spective reference :  "This  is  one  of  the  most  lifelike  and  telling  portraits  of 
Hawthorne  that  has  ever  appeared."    Here  the  writer  seems  to  mean  "  one 
—  that  has  appeared,"  while  his  real  meaning  must  be  "  portraits  that  have 
appeared."    The  antecedent  is  not  accurately  discriminated.  —  "  An  old  friend 
of  Mr.  Watts,  R.A.  (himself  an  artist),  -whose  pictures  are  now  on  exhibi- 
tion in  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  has  favored  us  with  the  following 
interesting  sketch  of  that  remarkable  painter."     Query,  whose  pictures  are 
on  exhibition?  —  "A  large  capitalist  or  syndicate  will  sometimes  buy  all  the 
wheat  or  cotton  in  the  market,  and  hold  it  until  its  scarcity  and  the  growing 
need  for  it  enables  him  to  charge  what  he  will  for  it."     Here  the  masculine 
pronoun  is  made  to  do  the  double  duty  of  a  masculine  and  a  neuter. 

2.  The  following  sentence,  from  Smollett,  with  its  correction  by  Professor 
Bain,  will  illustrate  some  of  the  writer's  shifts  for  clearness  of  reference. 

"The  pedant  assured  his  patron  "The  pedant  assured  his  patron 

that  although  he  could  not  divest  the  that  although  he  could  not  divest  the 

boy  of  the  knowledge  he  had  already  boy  of  the   knowledge    (a)   already 

imbibed,  unless  he  would   empower  imbibed,  unless  (3)  he  -were  emp<nv- 

him  to  disable  his  fingers,  he  should  ered  to  disable  (c)  the  little  trickster's 

endeavor,  with  God's  help,  to  prevent  fingers,  he  should  endeavor,  with  God's 

his  future  improvement."  help,  to  prevent  (d)  his  pupil's  future 

improvement." 

Here  it  will  be  seen  that  the  corrector  takes  as  his  object  first  of  all  to  re- 
construct the  sentence  so  that  all  the  pronouns  may  be  referable  to  a  single 
antecedent;  and  the  means  used  to  accomplish  this  result  are  — 

(«)  Omission  of  pronoun,  and  participial  construction; 

(b~)    Change  of  construction,  active  to  passive; 

(<r)   Antecedent  repeated  by  a  defining  term; 

(d)  Antecedent  repeated  again,  by  another  name. 

21.  The  most  natural  means  of  pointing  out  a  near  or  remote 
antecedent,  or  of  setting  different  antecedents  over  against  each 
other,  is  the  employment  of  demonstratives ;  see  Table  of  Retro- 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  125 

spective  Reference.  In  using  these,  however,  the  writer  needs  to 
calculate  wisely  how  far  he  may  trust  to  the  reader's  or  hearer's 
ability  to  think  back,  as  these  words  direct.  Such  demonstratives 
should  be  allowed  but  sparingly  in  spoken  style ;  in  written  style 
more  liberty  may  be  taken,  yet  here  also  the  writer's  safest  attitude 
is  caution,  lest  he  place  the  demonstrative  too  far  from  its  antece- 
dent. 

EXAMPLES.  —  I .  The  following  will  illustrate  the  serviceableness  of  demon- 
stratives. To  point  out  the  nearer  of  two  antecedents  (from  E.  C.  Stedman)  : 
"  If  they  (British  poets)  have  a  finer  understanding  and  a  defter  handling  of 
their  craft,  these  may  be  partly  a  consequence  of  the  fact  that  not  Montgomery 
and  Wilson,  but  Keats,  and  Wordsworth,  and  Tennyson,  and  their  greater 
masters,  have  supplied  the  models  of  a  recent  school."  From  Carlyle  :  "  Let 
Liberalism  and  a  New  Era,  if  such  is  the  wish,  be  introduced;  only  no  cur- 
tailment of  the  royal  moneys!  Which  latter  condition,  also,  is  precisely  the 
impossible  one."  Here  the  demonstrative  is  used  to  help  out  the  relative.  — 
To  point  out  the  remoter  of  two  (from  Ruskin)  :  "  And  don't  fancy  that  you 
will  lower  yourselves  by  sympathy  with  the  lower  creatures;  you  cannot 
sympathize  rightly  with  the  higher,  unless  you  do  with  those  :  but  you  have  to 
sympathize  with  the  higher,  too  —  with  queens,  and  kings,  and  martyrs,  and 
angels." 

2.  The  following  examples  will  illustrate  how  demonstratives  may  be  used 
to  set  antecedents  over  against  each  other.  From  Pitt :  "  I  will  not  barter 
English  commerce  for  Irish  slavery ;  that  is  not  the  price  I  would  pay,  nor  is 
this  the  thing  I  would  purchase."  From  E.  C.  Stedman :  "The  mind  and  soul 
of  Transcendentalism  seemed  to  find  their  predestined  service  in  the  land  of 
the  Puritans.  The  poetry  which  sprang  from  it  had  a  more  subtle  aroma  than 
that  whose  didacticism  infected  the  English  Lake  school.  The  latter  made 
prosaic  the  verse  of  famous  poets;  out  of  the  former  the  quickest  inspiration 
of  our  down-East  thinkers  seemed  to  grow."  In  both  of  these  examples  the 
reader  or  hearer  is  compelled  to  think  back  with  considerable  acumen,  in 
order  to  re-arrange  the  thought  as  the  demonstratives  bid  him;  this  is  what 
makes  such  usage  precarious. 

22.  There  are  two  laws  of  thought  which  according  to  occasion 
may  aid  the  reader  in  referring  the  pronoun  to  its  antecedent. 
One  is  the  law  of  Prominence,  by  which  the  pronoun  is  interpreted 
as  referring  to  the  principal  subject  of  the  antecedent  clause.  The 
other  is  the  law  of  Proximity,  by  which  the  pronoun  is  referred  to 


126  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

the  nearest  subject.  The  caution  is,  not  to  rely  on  either  of  these 
too  implicitly ;  their  virtue  in  aiding  clearness  of  reference  may 
easily  be  overrated. 

EXAMPLES.  —  I.  Prominence.  "At  this  moment  the  colonel  came  up  and 
took  the  place  of  the  wounded  general.  He  gave  orders  to  halt."  Here  the 
remoter  noun  is  so  much  more  prominent,  both  in  sense  and  construction,  that 
no  real  ambiguity  exists. 

2.  Proximity.     From  C.  D.  Warner :  "  Some  prisons  have  a  bad  reputation 
with  the  criminal  fraternity,  and  I  fancy  they  rather  shun  the  States  where 
these  exist."     Here  the  word  "  they  "  is  so  naturally  counted  with  the  nearest 
antecedent   ("  criminal   fraternity ")    that    the   later   demonstrative    is   clear 
enough,  without  closer  discrimination,  as  belonging  to  the  other. 

3.  One  principle  made  to  aid  the  other.     "  In  this  war  both  Marius  and 
Sulla  served;    Sulla  increased  his  (Sulla's)  reputation,  Marius  tarnished  his. 
Some  plead  for  him  (Marius,  the  last  named)  age  and  illness."     Here,  as 
both  names  are  of  equal  grammatical  prominence,  the  interpreting  principle 
of  the  last  pronoun  is  proximity.     In  an  important  reference,  however,  such 
as  this,  the  proximity  should  be  aided,  if  possible,  by  prominence.    This  might 
be  effected  by  putting  Sulla,  in  the  second  member,  in  a  subordinate  clause, 
thus :  "  In  this  war  both  Marius  and  Sulla  served.     While  Sulla  increased  his 
reputation,  Marius  tarnished  his.     Some  plead  for  him  age  and  illness."    Note 
how  the  reference  is  aided. 

23.  In  many  cases  where  reference  is  difficult  the  antecedent 
needs  to  be  repeated  in  some  form,  instead  of  being  represented 
by  a  pronoun ;  or  the  repetition  may  be  made  along  with  the  pro- 
noun. When  the  repeating  term  is  wisely  chosen,  it  may  also 
enrich  the  thought,  by  adding  some  new  and  suggestive  aspect. 

EXAMPLES.  —  From  Mrs.  Stowe :  "  It  had  also  a  bright  mahogany  tea- 
table,  over  which  was  a  looking-glass  in  a  gilt  frame,  with  a  row  of  little 
architectural  balls  on  it;  which  looking-glass  was  always  kept  shrouded  in 
white  muslin  at  all  seasons  of  the  year,  on  account  of  a  tradition  that  flies 
might  be  expected  to  attack  it  for  one  or  two  weeks  in  summer."  —  From 
Arthur  Helps :  "  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  likeness,  and  not  contrast,  which 
produces  this  liking  —  likeness,  mark  you,  in  some  essential  particular,  in 
some  sub-stratum,  as  I  said  before,  in  the  mind,  which  liking  is  not  overcome 
by  considerable  dissimilarity  upon  the  upper  surface."  —  For  instance  of 
amplifying  repetition  see  corrected  example,  page  124,  where  "the  little 
trickster  "  both  repeats  and  characterizes  its  antecedent. 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  127 

24.  In  the  report  of  conversation,  where  in  designating  the 
interlocutors  the  clash  of  pronouns  is  peculiarly  liable  to  occur, 
ambiguity  may  be  removed,  and  at  the  same  time  vivacity  increased, 
by  quoting  each  speaker's  words  in  his  own  proper  person.  When 
the  details  of  such  conversation  are  in  any  place  likely  to  be  unin- 
teresting or  not  fully  relevant,  the  writer  may  condense  by  reporting 
in  the  third  person. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "  He  told  his  friend  that  if  he  did  not  feel  better  in  half  an 
hour  he  thought  he  had  better  return."  Here  the  ambiguity  is  quite  insur- 
mountable. Say  however,  "  He  told  his  friend,  '  If  I  (or  you)  do  not  feel 
better,' "  etc.,  and  all  is  clear  enough. 

The  following,  from  Motley,  will  illustrate  how,  according  to  the  character 
of  the  thought  and  the  need  of  rapidity  or  vividness,  the  manner  of  reporting 
may  alternate  between  direct  and  indirect  quotation. 

"  On  the  third  day,  Don  Francis  went  to  take  his  leave.  The  Duke  begged 
him  to  inform  his  Majesty  of  the  impatience  with  which  he  was  expecting  the 
arrival  of  his  successor.  He  then  informed  his  guest  that  they  had  already 
begun  to  collect  the  tenth  penny  in  Brabant,  the  most  obstinate  of  all  the 
provinces.  'What  do  you  say  to  that,  Don  Francis?'  he  cried,  with  exulta- 
tion. Alava  replied  that  he  thought,  none  the  less,  that  the  tax  would 
encounter  many  obstacles,  and  begged  him  earnestly  to  reflect.  He  assured 
him,  moreover,  that  he  should,  without  reserve,  express  his  opinions  fully  to 
the  King.  The  Duke  used  the  same  language  which  Don  Frederic  had  held, 
concerning  the  motives  of  those  who  opposed  the  tax.  '  It  may  be  so,'  said 
Don  Francis,  '  but  at  any  rate,  all  have  agreed  to  sing  to  the  same  tune.' 
A  little  startled,  the  Duke  rejoined,  'Do  you  doubt  that  the  cities  will  keep 
their  promises?  Depend  upon  it,  I  shall  find  the  means  to  compel  them.' 
'  God  grant  it  may  be  so,'  said  Alava,  '  but  in  my  poor  judgment  you  will  have 
need  of  all  your  prudence  and  of  all  your  authority.' " 

Coordination  and  Restriction  of  the  Antecedent.  —  In  the  use 
of  the  relative  pronoun  we  recognize  two  distinct  offices  as  regards 
the  antecedent :  coordinative,  represented  by  who  and  which  ;  and 
restrictive,  represented  by  that. 

When  the  coordinate  relative  is  used,  the  antecedent  is  regarded 
as  complete  in  sense,  and  the  clause  introduced  by  the  relative 
contains  an  additional  assertion.  The  relative  —  who  or  which  — 
is  accordingly  equivalent  to  a  demonstrative  with  a  conjunction ; 
"  and  he/'  "  and  this/'  "  and  these," 


128  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

When  the  restrictive  relative  is  used,  the  antecedent  has  not 
reached  its  complete  sense,  but  something,  which  the  relative 
clause  supplies,  is  still  necessary  by  way  of  restriction  or  definition. 
An  equivalent  clause,  therefore,  is  not  so  easy  to  give ;  but  some- 
times the  relative  —  that  —  may  be  omitted,  and  its  place  taken  by 
an  adjective  or  phrase. 

EXAMPLES.  —  i.  Coordinate.  —  "But  flesh  with  the  life  thereof,  -which  is 
the  blood  thereof,  shall  ye  not  eat."  Here  the  relative  clause  makes  an 
additional  assertion,  coordinate  in  rank  with  the  principal. 

2.  Restrictive.  —  "And  there  came  a  traveller  unto  the  rich  man;   and  he 
spared  to  take  of  his  own  flock,  and  of  his  own  herd,  to  dress  for  the  way- 
faring man  that  was  come  unto  him;    but  took  the  poor  man's  lamb,  and 
dressed  it  for  the  man  that  was  come  to  him."     Here  the  antecedent  is  not 
complete  in  sense  without  the  restriction  that  the  relative  clause  gives :  it  is 
not  man  in  general,  but  the  particular  man  "  that  was  come  unto  him." 

3.  The  two  in  one  sentence.     "  The  peace  that  was  now  made,  which  is 
known  as  the  Peace  of  Westphalia,  made  some  important  changes  in  Europe." 
Here  the  that-clause  completes  the  sense  of  the  antecedent;   while  the  which- 
clause  relates  a  new  fact  concerning  it.  —  Notice  the  different  implications  of 
the  relatives  in  the  following :  "  Fetch  me  the  books  that  lie  on  the  table,  and 
the  pamphlets,  which  you  will  find  on  the  floor." 

25.  The  distinction  between  coordinative  and  restrictive  relatives 
is  too  little  regarded  by  writers,  and  the  feeling  of  it  on  the  part 
of  readers  is  correspondingly  undeveloped.  It  is  a  real  and  im- 
portant distinction,  however,  and  capable,  by  careful  usage,  of  being 
brought  to  more  general  recognition.  The  writer  should  habitually 
estimate  the  essential  office  of  every  relative  he  employs,  and  not 
depart  from  the  strict  use  except  on  real  and  definable  occasion. 

NOTE.  —  The  unjudged  use  of  who  or  which  in  a  restrictive  sense  is  not 
infrequently  productive  of  positive  ambiguity.  Thus,  in  the  sentence,  "  It  is 
requested  that  all  members  of  Council,  who  are  also  members  of  the  Lands 
Committee,  will  assemble  in  the  Council-room,"  —  is  it  meant  that  all  the 
members  of  the  one  are  also  members  of  the  other,  or  is  this  a  call  for  all 
members  of  the  first  that  happen  also  to  be  members  of  the  second?  —  Notice 
the  ambiguity  of,  "The  Fellows  who,  in  conformity  with  their  oaths,  had 
refused  to  submit  to  this  usurper,  had  been  driven  forth  from  their  quiet  clois- 
ters and  gardens."  One  sense  is  made  by  placing  a  comma  after  "  Fellows," 
and  quite  another  by  substituting  that  for  "  who." 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  129 

26.  There  are  certain  definable  cases  where  who  or  which  are 
the  only  available  relatives,  as  well  for  restriction  as  for  coordina- 
tion. It  is  not  meant  that  in  these  cases  there  is  no  restrictive  or 
coordinate  sense  present,  but  that  the  discrimination  of  that  sense 
by  the  form  of  the  relative  is  waived  because  other  considerations, 
of  euphony  or  clearness,  are  stronger.  The  reader  is  left,  in  other 
words,  to  make  for  himself  the  proper  adjustment  in  the  function 
of  the  relative. 

THE  PRINCIPAL  CASES  OF  THIS  KIND  ENUMERATED  AND  EXEMPLIFIED.  — 
The  following  are  the  chief  exceptions  to  the  strict  discriminative  use  of  the 
relative.  The  reasons  for  them  may  be  reduced  to  the  two  considerations  of 
Euphony  and  Clearness. 

I.    EUPHONY. 

1.  Who  or  -which  is  often  used  to  avoid  an  accumulation  of  thats,  e.g. 
When  the  antecedent  is  that :  "It  is  that  which  I  detest"; 

When  the  antecedent  is  modified  by  that :  "  That  remark  which.  I  made 
yesterday"; 

When  a  conjunctive  (hat  occurs  near:  "And  there  can  be  found  other 
passages  which  show  that  it  was  a  common  and  popular  custom."  In  all  these 
cases  the  meaning  of  the  relative  is  restrictive,  but  euphony  compels  the 
change.  How  obtrusive  a  series  of  thats  may  sound  is  illustrated  in  the 
following,  from  De  Quincey,  "  Egypt  was  the  land  that  sheltered  the  wretches 
thai  represented  the  ancestors  that  had  done  the  wrong." 

2.  That  sounds  ill  when  separated  from  its  verb  and  from  its  antecedents, 
and  emphasized  by  isolation :   There  are  many  persons  that,  though  unscru- 
pulous, are  commonly  good  tempered,  and  that,  if  not  strongly  incited  by  self- 
interest,  are  ready  for  the  most  part  to  think  of  the  interest  of  their  neighbors." 
Here  who  would  be  better. 

3.  That  cannot  be  preceded  by  a  preposition,  and  hence  throws  the  prepo- 
sition to  the  end.     The  following  is  an  extreme  example :  "  It  seemed  to  be 
one  of  those  facts  of  existence  that  she  could  not  get  used  to,  nor  find  any- 
where in  her  brisk,  fiery  little  body  a  grain  of  cool  resignation  for."    Not  all 
prepositions  will  bear  thus  to  stand  at  the  end,  and  especially  long  preposi- 
tions, or  prepositions  that  may  also  be  adverbs.     As  matters  of  fact  the  liberty 
is  confined  mostly  to  the  prepositions  to,  for,  of,  and  by.     We  can  say  "  This 
is  the  rule  that  I  adhere  to,"  but  not  so  well  "This  is  the  mark  that  I  jumped 
beyond,"  or,  "  Such  were  the  prejudices  that  he  rose  above."     And  when  these 
prepositions  are  put  in  the  body  of  the  sentence,  which  is  required  as  the 
relative,  though  with  restrictive  sense- 


130  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

II.    CLEARNESS. 

4.  That  applies  to  both  persons  and  things,  and  hence  may  be  somewhat 
vague  when  the  antecedent  does  not  express  which  is  meant.  In  such  a  case, 
though  the  sense  is  restrictive,  -who  may  sometimes  be  used  for  the  sake  of 
pointing  out  the  person.  For  example  :  "  There  are  many  millions  in  India 
•who  would  be  utterly  unable  to  pay  a  fine  of  fifty  rupees,"  etc.  If  in  this  case 
the  antecedent  were  clear,  the  restrictive  relative  would  naturally  be  used;  as, 
"  There  are  many  millions  of  persons  in  India  that"  etc.  ^ 

It  is  for  the  sake  of  clearness  as  to  distinction  of  person  that  pronominal 
adjectives  used  as  personal  pronouns  are  followed  by  who:  as,  "There  are 
many,  others,  several,  those,  who"  etc.  Also  "  all  who,"  "  every  one  who" 
etc.;  but  when  things  are  meant,  not  "all  which,"  "much  which,"  etc.,  but 
"all  that;'  " 


27.  There  is  such  frequent  occasion  to  use  the  relative,  and  it 
is  so  apt,  when  occurring  often,  to  make  the  sentence  move  heav- 
ily and  cumbrously,  that  a  mastery  of  the  equivalents  for  the  rela- 
tive is  very  important  to  the  writer.  These  equivalents  may  be 
sought  for  various  purposes. 

EQUIVALENTS  FOR  RELATIVE  ENUMERATED  AND  EXEMPLIFIED.  —  The 
following  are  the  commonest,  classified  according  to  the  object  sought  in  their 
use. 

I.   FOR  RAPIDITY. 

1.  It  is  to  be  noted  that,  of  the  two  relatives,  the  restrictive  is  the  more 
rapid;  and  a  slow-moving  construction  may  often  be  considerably  lightened 
by  recasting  so  as  to  employ  a  restrictive  instead  of  a  coordinate  clause.    This 
is  especially  desirable  when  a  relative  occurs  within  a  relative.     For  example  : 
"This  curious  design  I  bought  of  a  nun  in  France,  who  passed  years  of  toil 
upon  the  conceit,  which  is  of  more  value  than  the  material."     Here  the  con- 
struction is  a  little  cumbrous;  but  notice  the  greater  lightness  and  rapidity 
of,  "  who  passed  years  of  toil  upon  a  conceit  thai  is  of  more  value  than  the 
material." 

2.  The  relative  may  often  be  condensed  by  being  combined,  in  the  same 
word,  with  a  preposition,  or  with  the  antecedent. 

Thus,  -wherein,  whereby  may  be  used  for  in  which,  by  which  :  "  Great  vir- 
tues often  save,  and  always  illustrate,  the  age  and  nation  wherein  they 
appear." 

"Yet  all  experience  is  an  arch  •wherethro' 
Gleams  that  untravell'd  world,  whose  margin  fades 
For  ever  and  for  ever  when  I  move," 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  131 

What  is  a  useful  equivalent  for  that  which,  those  -which  :  "  Let  me  repeat 
to  you  what  I  have  often  said,  that  what  is  worth  doing  at  all  is  worth  doing 
well." 

3.  The  relative  that  may  be  omitted  to  advantage,  when  it  is  the  object  of 
a  verb,  and  when  the  omission  brings  the  antecedent  and  the  relative  clause  in 
juxtaposition;  for  example,  "The  man  I  spoke  of,"  is  better  than  "The  man 
that  I  spoke  of."     "  Dickens's  acting  was  a  part  of  himself.     He  threw  him- 
self thoroughly  into  the  character/^  was  impersonating,  and  thus  made  it 
real."     Here  the  relative  is  better  omitted  than  expressed. 

When,  however,  the  antecedent  and  the  relative  clause  are  not  brought  into 
juxtaposition  thereby,  the  relative  will  not  so  well  bear  omission.  Example : 
"  As  for  actresses,  it  surely  would  be  the  height  of  ungenerosity  to  blame  a 
woman  for  following  the  only  regular  profession  commanding  fame  and  for- 
tune^the  kind  consideration  of  man  has  left  open  to  her."  Here  the  phrase 
"  commanding  fame  and  fortune,"  between  the  antecedent  and  the  relative 
clause,  disturbs  the  reference,  and  the  relative  ought  to  be  retained. 

For  omission  of  the  relative  in  Poetic  Diction,  see  preceding,  page  51. 

II.  FOR  EMPHASIS. 

4.  Sometimes,  instead  of  the  coordinating  relative,  a  demonstrative  with  a 
conjunction  will  better  emphasize  the  subject  of  its  clause;  for  example:  "He 
did  his  best,  which  was  all  that  could  be  expected,"  is  not  so  strong  as,  "  He 
did  his  best;   and  this  was  all  that  could  be  expected." 

5.  A  negative  statement  may  sometimes  be  much  strengthened  by  employing 
the  word  but  as  a  relative;  for  example :  "There  is  no  moral  rule  but  bends  to 
circumstances,"  is  stronger  than,  "  There  is  no  moral  rule  that  does  not  bend 

to  circumstances." 

"  There's  not  a  one  of  them  but  in  his  house 
I  keep  a  servant  fee'd,"  — 

instead  of  "  in  whose  house  I  do  not  keep  a  servant  fee'd." 

III.  FOR  VARIATION  OF  EXPRESSION. 

This  is  an  important  consideration  in  itself,  when  there  is  danger  of  accumu- 
lating too  many  relatives. 

6.  A  participle  may  often  be  used  instead  of  the  restrictive  relative  with 
a  verb;   for  example:    "We  shall  briefly  run  over  the  events  attending  the 
conquest  made  by  that  empire,"  is  much  better  than  "  that  attended "  and 
"that  was  made."     This  construction  has   advantage  also  on  the  score  of 
rapidity. 

7.  In  some  cases  the  infinitive  makes  a  convenient  equivalent  for  the  rel- 
ative; for  example :  "  He  was  the  first  to  enter,"  instead  of  "  He  was  the  first 
that  entered." 


132  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

8.  Sometimes  also  a  conditional  or  if-clause  may  enable  the  writer  to  do 
away  with  an  obtrusive  relative;  for  example:  "  The  man  that  does  not  care 
for  music  is  to  be  pitied,"  can  be  written  (though  not  so  forcibly)  "  If  a  man 
does  not  care  for  music,  he  is  to  be  pitied."  It  is  in  long  sentences  that  this 
equivalent  will  be  found  most  useful.1 

[Recognition  of  the  Nature  of  the  Antecedent. — When  reference 
is  made  to  a  preceding  idea,  the  referring  clause  should  by  its 
form  or  fullness,  furnish  an  accurate  recognition,  as  well  logical  as 
grammatical,  of  the  word  or  idea  referred  to. 

28.  And  perhaps  the  most  frequent  question  is,  whether  refer- 
ence is  to  be  made  to  a  thing  or  a.  fact;  that  is,  whether  the  gram- 
matical antecedent  is  a  word  or  a  clause.     When  the  antecedent 
is  a  clause,  it  must  generally  be  referred  to  by  more  than  a  mere 
pronominal  word;  a  defining  word   must   be  added  to  broaden 
the  reference. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "  When  an  American  book  is  republished  in  England,  it  is 
heralded  as  a  noteworthy  event  in  literature."  Here  it  is  not  the  book  that 
is  heralded  but  the  fact  that  it  is  republished;  hence  the  form  of  reference 
should  be,  "  the  fact  is  heralded,"  or  "the  event  is  heralded  as  noteworthy  in 
literature." 

The  more  definite  demonstratives  this  and  that  are  better  adapted  than 
others  to  refer  to  a  fact;  for  example:  "It  was  not  possible  to  break  the 
enemy's  line  without  running  on  board  one  of  their  ships.  Hardy  informed 
Nelson  of  this."  But  here  also,  the  writer  must  guard  against  insufficient  or 
ambiguous  reference. 

29.  Equal  care  must  be  given  in  naming  an  antecedent,  to  dis- 
criminate the  exact  character  or  aspect  of  it  for  the  writer's  pur- 
pose.    A  special  tendency  to  inaccuracy  in  this  respect  is  often 
seen  in  the  use  of  such  phrases  as  "  in  this  way,"  "  of  this  sort," 
and  the  like. 

EXAMPLES.  I.  Of  misnamed  antecedent.  "When  a  recognized  organiza- 
tion places  itself  in  opposition  to  what  the  people  regard  as  their  right,  it  en- 
dangers its  own  existence;  and  a  continuation  of  this  course  of  action  is  almost 

1  In  the  paragraphs  on  Coordination  and  Restriction  of  the  Antecedent,  much 
help  has  been  derived,  both  in  examples  and  suggestions,  from  Abbott's  "  How  to 
Write  Clearly,"  pp.  17-19,  and  Bain's  "  Composition  Grammar,"  pp.  63-85. 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  133 

sure  to  cause  its  overthrow."  Here  what  has  been  mentioned  is  not  a  course 
of  action,  but  an  attitude;  "this  attitude"  would  therefore  be  a  more  exact 
reference. 

2.  Of  inaccurate  phrasal  reference.  "  God,  foreseeing  the  disorders  of 
human  nature,  has  given  us  certain  passions  and  affections  which  arise  from, 
or  whose  objects  are,  these  disorders.  Of  (his  sort  are  fear,  resentment,  com- 
passion." Here  the  thing  referred  to  is  not  a  sort,  and  is  not  rightly  called 
such.  Better :  "  Among  these  are,"  etc. 

30.  There  are  cases,  however,  where  it  is  desirable  to  make  the 
reference  a  little  vague,  or  rather,  more  general  than  the  antece- 
dent ;  for  sometimes  the  antecedent  needs  to  be  treated  as  one  of 
a  class,  or  otherwise  broadened,  in  order  rightly  to  serve  the 
writer's  purpose  in  referring  to  it. 

EXAMPLES.  —  Notice  the  difference  in  sense  between  this  and  such  in  the 
following  example,  already  quoted :  "  When  a  recognized  organization  places 
itself  in  opposition  to  what  the  people  regard  as  their  rights,  it  endangers  its 
own  existence;  and  a  continuation  of  such  an  attitude  (this  attitude)  is  al- 
most sure  to  cause  its  overthrow."  The  word  such  draws  attention  not  to  the 
particular  deed,  but  to  the  kind  of  deed.  — "  It  may  be  well  to  make  brief 
mention  of  Lawrence  Sheriff,  the  founder  of  the  school,  that  some  of  its  early 
history  may  through  that  be  portrayed."  Here  the  word  that  refers  most 
directly  to  "  mention,"  and  the  reference  is  too  definite.  Better :  "  may 
thereby  be  portrayed,"  —  the  reference  being  thus  to  the  fact  of  making 
mention. 

IV.   PROSPECTIVE   REFERENCE. 

This  term  designates  the  office  of  any  word  of  reference,  pro- 
nominal or  other,  when  the  word  or  idea  for  which  it  stands  is  yet 
to  be  expressed. 

Prospective  it  and  there,  —  The  idioms  if  is  and  there  is  (or 
there  are) ,  beginning  a  sentence  or  clause,  are  the  commonest 
forms  of  prospective  reference,  and  are  especially  valuable  as  a 
means  of  enabling  the  writer  to  gain  emphasis  by  inverting  the 
grammatical  order  of  subject  and  predicate.  Introduced  first, 
these  words  stand  provisionally  for  the  actual  subject ;  while  the 
latter,  thus  free  to  choose  its  position,  may  be  placed  where  it  will 
have  the  greatest  distinction. 


134  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

EXAMPLES.  — "//  is  a  necessity  of  every  manufacturing  and  commercial 
people  that  their  customers  should  be  very  wealthy  and  intelligent."  Here 
the  clause,  "  that  their  customers,"  etc.,  which  is  the  real  subject,  acquires  a 
distinction  proper  to  its  importance  by  being  placed  after  its  predicate,  "  is  a 
necessity";  and  this  is  effected  by  making  "it"  stand  provisionally  for  the 
subject. 

Observe  how  much  more  emphatic  the  following  subject,  "  a  single  day,"  is 
made  by  the  opportunity  afforded  by  "  there  "  of  placing  it  after  its  verb  and 
thus  delaying  it  toward  the  end :  "  There  has  not  for  the  whole  of  that  time 
been  a  single  day  of  my  life  when  it  would  have  been  safe  for  me  to  go  south 
of  Mason  and  Dixon's  line  in  my  own  country." 

In  the  following  sentence,  there  prospective  would  be  useful  in  changing 
order  so  that  the  relative  clause  might  be  brought  nearer  its  antecedent :  "  It  was 
clear,  however,  that  the  strife  could  never  end  until  some  defining  line  between 
the  powers  of  the  King  and  the  powers  of  the  Parliament  should  be  drawn, 
over  which  neither  party  should  step."  Better  —  "  until  there  should  be  drawn 
some  defining  line  .  .  .  over  which,"  etc. 

31.  As  the  word  it  may  refer  backward  as  well  as  forward,  care 
is  needed  not  to  employ  it  where  the  reference  is  uncertain,  and 
not  to  mix  its  retrospective  and  prospective  offices  unadvisedly  in 
the  same  passage. 

EXAMPLES.  —  Even  where  no  real  ambiguity  is  caused,  the  double  use  of 
it  in  the  same  passage  "  always  suggests  the  possibility  of  being  led  astray  "; 
for  example :  "It would  be  absurd  to  make  another  attempt;  it  would  be  a 
mere  throwing  away  of  money."  Here  the  second  it,  retrospective,  sounds  at 
best  awkward  after  its  prospective  use.  So  in  the  following  sentence,  from 
Ruskin :  "It  is  pretty  and  appropriate;  and,  if  it  boasted  of  any  other  per- 
fection, it  would  be  at  the  expense  of  its  propriety." 

The  following,  copied  from  a  newspaper,  is  an  extreme  example  of  careless- 
ness in  the  mixture  of  functions.  It  is  a  description  of  a  temperance  speech 
made  by  a  rope-walker  while  hanging  in  the  air.  "  It  was  a  speech  not  easily 
forgotten,  delivered  as  it  was  from  a  peculiar  platform,  and  on  a  subject  not 
often  touched  under  the  circumstances.  //  made  me  think  of  some  other 
things,  on  the  line  of  the  same  thought.  The  mind,  the  soul,  has  a  grip.  It 
may  hold  on.  Sometimes  it  is  imperative.  It  is  death  not  to  do  so.  //  is 
responsible  in  the  matter.  It  is  chargeable  with  its  own  destruction  if  it  does 
not  hold  on." 

Other  Means  of  Prospective  Reference.  —  From  the  foregoing 
examples  it  is  evident  that  a  word  or  idea  may  acquire  distinction 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  135 

by  being  expected  and  prepared  for,  it  being  noticed  so  much  the 
more  when  it  comes.  The  broader  application  of  this  fact  will  be 
given  under  Suspension ;  here  it  is  to  be  noted  that  any  means  by 
which  a  coming  idea  is  definitely  referred  to  must  obey  the  re- 
quirements and  cautions  of  prospective  reference. 

32.  The  strong  demonstratives,  such  as  this  and  these,  when 
used  prospectively,  serve  to  point  out  a  subject  with  great  definite- 
ness  and  strength.     The  personal  pronouns  are  not  so  naturally 
thus  employed,  and  when  employed  should  not  keep  their  subject 
waiting  long. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "  This  is  a  faithful  saying,  and  worthy  of  all  acceptation,  that 
Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners."  Here  the  saying  itself, 
which  is  driven  forward  by  the  prospective  this,  is  not  only  emphasized  by 
position,  but  defined  beforehand  as  to  its  importance,  by  the  intermediate 
phrase. 

The  somewhat  strange  sound  of  a  prospective  personal  pronoun  is  illustrated 
by  the  following :  "  But  such  a  use  of  language,  although  necessary  to  a  good 
style,  has  no  more  direct  relation  to  it  than  her  daily  dinner  has  to  the  blush  of 
a  blooming  beauty." 

33.  Numerals  and  particles  of  reference  are  often  used,  and 
especially  in   spoken  discourse,  to  make  the   articulation  of  the 
thought  clear,  and  to  help  the  hearer  grasp  its  divisions.      The 
copiousness  of  such  words  of  reference  is  to  be  determined  by  the 
difficulty  of  the  thought.     The  common  tendency  is  to  give  the 
hearer  or  reader  too  little  help  in  making  forward  reference  explicit. 

EXAMPLE  OF  EXPLICIT  REFERENCE.  — "  The  capital  leading  questions 
on  which  you  must  this  day  decide  are  these  two  :  First,  whether  you  ought  to 
concede;  and,  secondly,  what  your  concession  ought  to  be.  On  the  first  of 
these  questions  we  have  gained  some  ground."  Consider  how  clearness  is 
gained  by  these  carefully  supplied  words  of  reference,  both  prospective  and 
retrospective. 

V.     CORRELATION. 

Many  words  or  forms  of  expression  appear  in  pairs,  the  one 
member  of  the  pair  suggesting  and  requiring  the  other.  Some 
points  connected  with  this  mutual  relation  need  here  to  be  noted. 


136  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

Comparison  by  Means  of  than,  as,  and  Similar  Words.  — 
The  prevalent  error  in  the  use  of  these  correlating  terms  is  ambi- 
guity and  vagueness  between  the  things  or  acts  compared. 

34.  In  order  to  avoid  ambiguity,  it  is  often  necessary  to  repeat 
verbs  or  prepositions  after  than,  as,  and  such  words  of  comparison, 
so  that  the  exact  grammatical  relation  of  the  succeeding  may  be 
clear. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "  Cardinal  Richelieu  hated  Buckingham  as  sincerely  as  the 
Spaniard  Olivaves."  This  sentence  leaves  it  uncertain  whether  the  last  name 
is  a  subject  or  an  object;  we  may  read  it  either,  "as  did  the  Spaniard 
Olivares,"  or,  "as  he  hated  the  Spaniard  Olivares."  The  verb  that  is  to  be 
taken  needs  to  be  supplied. 

"  Pleasure  and  excitement  had  more  attraction  for  him  than  his  friend." 
Here,  according  to  the  intended  meaning,  a  verb  or  a  preposition  needs  to  be 
supplied:  "thany^r  his  friend,"  or,  "than  had\w->  friend." 

35.  In  comparing  complex  objects,  care   is   needed   that  the 
points  to  be  compared  be  correctly  and  exactly  taken.    Sometimes, 
through  heedlessness,  the  comparison  is  given  as  between  ideas 
that  really  have  no  correlation. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "Few  pages  of  English  history  record  a  more  marked  con- 
trast in  the  character  and  policy  of  the  English  Goverment  than  those  which 
record  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth,  the  last  of  the  Tudors,  and  James,  the  first  of 
the  Stuarts."  Here  the  comparison  is  drawn  as  if  it  were  between  a  "  con- 
trast "  and  "  pages  of  history."  Better :  "  a  more  marked  contrast  .  .  .  than 
existed  between  the  reigns  of,"  etc. 

"  No  author  could  more  faithfully  represent  a  character  than  this  portrayal 
of  Count  Cenci  by  Shelley;  and  though  the  subject  is  unworthy,  we  cannot 
but  admire  the  power  with  which  it  is  treated."  Here  the  inexactness  in  the 
objects  compared  might  be  very  easily  corrected  — "  than  Shelley  has  por- 
trayed the  character  of  Count  Cenci." 

How  is  the  following  question  to  be  debated?  —  "  Resolved,  that  a  college 
graduate  is  better  fitted  for  American  citizenship  than  any  other." 

Correlation  by  Conjunctions  and  Conjunctive  Adverbs.— 
When  two  alternative  or  obverse  thoughts  are  to  be  expressed,  it  is 
generally  necessary  to  clearness,  and  especially  if  the  clauses  are 
lengthy,  to  prepare  for  the  second  by  introducing  at  the  outset 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  137 

some  correlative  particle  requiring  the  alternate  for  its  complement. 
This  necessity  gives  rise  to  such  expressions  as  either . . .  or,  neither 
.  .  .  nor,  on  the  one  hand .  .  .  on  the  other  hand,  not  only  .  .  .  but 
also,  expressions  whose  value  is  best  appreciated  by  those  writers 
who  think  most  of  clearness  in  style. 

EXAMPLE. — Consider  how  necessary  it  is  in  the  following  sentence  to  pre- 
pare the  reader  from  the  first  for  an  alternative :  "  You  must  take  this  ex- 
tremely perilous  course,  in  which  success  is  uncertain,  and  failure  disgraceful, 
as  well  as  ruinous,  or  else  the  liberty  of  your  country  is  endangered."  The 
correlatives,  "Either  you  must  take  .  .  .  or  else"  etc.,  save  much  liability  to 
misinterpretation,  and  obviate  the  necessity  of  correcting  an  impression  formed 
and  held  for  half  a  sentence. 

36.  The  words  or,  nor,  either,  neither,  although  originally  dual 
words,  are  freely  extended   to  three  or  more  alternatives.     It  is 
often  desirable,  for  the  sake  of  emphasis  and  climax,  to  add  some 
intensifying  word  after  the  first  alternative. 

EXAMPLES.  —  A  triple  alternative :  "  Logic  neither  observes,  nor  invents, 
nor  discovers,  but  proves." 

Intensified:  "The  Rector  was  neither  laborious,  nor  obviously  self-deny- 
ing, nor  yet  very  copious  in  almsgiving."  —  The  following  may  be  regarded  as 
an  elegant  way  of  managing  a  triple  alternative :  — 

"  For  surer  sign  had  followed,  either  hand 
Or  voice,  or  else  a  motion  of  the  mere."  ! 

37.  The  words  not  only  and  but,  or  but  also,  when  correlative, 
should  be  followed  by  the  same  part  of  speech. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "  He  not  only  gave  me  advice  but  also  help  "  is  wrong.  Write, 
"  He  gave  me  not  only  advice  but  also  help."  What  part  of  speech  follows 
these  words  is  immaterial;  but  it  is  essential  that  the  words  should  be  followed 
alike  by  nouns,  or  verbs,  or  prepositional  phrases.  "  He  spoke  not  only  forci- 
bly but  also  tastefully  (adverbs),  and  this  too,  not  only  before  a  small  audience 
but  also  in  (prepositions)  a  large  public  meeting,  and  his  speeches  were  not 
only  successful,  but  also  worthy  of  success  (adjectives)." 

1  The  above  rule,  with  examples,  is  mostly  taken  from  Bain's  "  Composition 
Grammar." 


138  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

Sometimes  the  also  may  be  separated  from  the  but  by  considerations  of 
force  or  euphony,  for  example :  "  But  by  seeking  the  other  things  first,  as  we 
naturally  do,  we  miss  not  only  the  Kingdom  of  God,  but  those  other  things 
also  which  are  truly  attained  only  by  aiming  beyond  them." 1 

38.  The  adverbs  indeed,  in  fact,  in  truth,  to  be  sure,  and  the  like, 
are  much  used,  by  way  of  concession,  to  prepare  for  a  coming 
adversative,  but,  still,  or  yet.  This  mode  of  correlation  contributes 
much  to  the  strong  and  clear  articulation  of  thought.  Sometimes 
the  influence  of  the  concessive  adverb  extends  through  a  whole 
paragraph,  before  the  corresponding  adversative  is  reached. 

EXAMPLES.  —  This  kind  of  correlation  will  be  exemplified  from  Macaulay, 
who  used  it  almost  to  the  extent  of  mannerism. 

"No  writer,  indeed,  has  delineated  character  more  skillfully  than  Tacitus; 
but  this  is  not  his  peculiar  glory."  — "  It  is  true  that  his  veneration  for  an- 
tiquity produced  on  him  some  of  the  effects  which  it  produced  on  those  who 
arrived  at  it  by  a  very  different  road.  [Sentence  of  amplification.]  Yet  even 
here  we  perceive  a  difference."  —  "  The  fashionable  logic  of  the  Greeks  was, 
indeed,  far  from  strict.  [Paragraph  of  amplification.]  Still,  where  thousands 
of  keen  and  ready  intellects  were  constantly  employed  in  speculating  on  the 
qualities  of  actions  and  on  the  principles  of  government,  it  was  impossible 
that  history  should  retain  its  old  character." 

Often  this  correlation  is  effected  in  the  first  member,  without  the 
aid  of  a  particle,  by  introducing  a  thought  so  obviously  preparatory 
that  the  but  is  naturally  suggested. 

EXAMPLES.  — "  He  has  written  something  better,  perhaps,  than  the  best 
history;  but  he  has  not  written  a  good  history;  he  is,  from  the  first  to  the  last 
chapter,  an  inventor." — "Of  the  concise  and  elegant  accounts  of  the  cam- 
paigns of  Caesar  little  can  be  said.  They  are  incomparable  models  for  military 
despatches ;  but  histories  they  are  not,  and  do  not  pretend  to  be." 

VI.     CONJUNCTIONAL   RELATION. 

More  perhaps  than  on  anything  else,  the  progress,  the  flexibility, 
and  the  delicacy  of  the  writer's  expression,  are  dependent  on  the 
accurate  use  of  conjunctions.  They  mark  every  turn,  every  change 

1  Rule  and  examples  taken  mostly  from  Abbott's  "  How  to  Write  Clearly." 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  139 

of  relation.  It  is  of  the  highest  importance,  therefore,  that  the 
writer  have  the  ability,  and,  what  is  equally  important,  the  habit,  of 
estimating  closely,  in  every  instance,  the  kind  and  degree  of  their 
influence. 

The  following  are  the  principal  kinds  of  conjunctional  relation, 
determined  according  to  their  rhetorical  significance. 

Coordinating.  —  It  is  the  office  of  these  conjunctions  to  "  add  a 
new  statement  having  the  same  bearing  as  what  preceded." 

LIST.  —  The  great  representative  of  these  conjunctions  is  AND.  The  others 
are:  also,  yea,  likewise,  so,  in  like  manner,  again,  besides,  too  (following 
another  word),  further,  moreover,  furthermore,  add  to  this  (add  to  which). 
Now  is  an  old-fashioned  connective  used  to  introduce  a  statement  not  closely 
connected  with  the  preceding. 

39.  By  the  coordinating  sense  is  meant  that  these  conjunctions 
continue  the  thought  in  the  same  direction  and  the  same  rank. 
The  varieties  of  coordination  within  these  limits  are  determined  by 
the  adverbial  implication  of  the  conjunction. 

NOTE.  —  It  is  to  be  noted  that  conjunctions  are  mostly  derived  from  ad- 
verbs, and  may  present  all  stages  of  use,  from  almost  purely  adverbial  to 
almost  purely  connective;  or  may  be  used  on  occasion  either  as  one  part  of 
speech  or  the  other.  Care  is  needed,  for  instance,  in  the  use  of  such  'a  word 
as  "  now,"  which  at  the  beginning  of  a  sentence  is  most  naturally  understood 
as  a  connective :  if  therefore  a  temporal  relation  is  meant,  it  needs  to  be  repre- 
sented by  such  a  phrase  as  "At  this  time,"  or  "At  present." 

40.  A  thought  moving  in  the  same  direction  needs  often  to  be 
intensified  in  succeeding  members,  in  order  that  better  progress 
and  climax  may  be  secured.     Connectives  that  also  intensify  are 
sometimes  called  cumulative,  from  the  Latin  cumulus,  a  heap. 

NOTE.  —  We  see  this  cumulative  force  in  such  connectives  as :  more  than 
this,  especially,  in  greater  degree,  all  the  more,  much  more,  after  all. 

Lack  of  cumulation  is  exemplified  in  the  following :  "  But  anything  is  better 
than  pedantry  displaying  itself  in  verse,  and  in  connection  with  the  name 
of  Homer."  As  it  stands,  the  second  member  is  insignificant:  we  expect 
some  such  connective  as,  "  and  especially  in  connection  with  the  name  of 
Homer." 


140  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

Subordinating. — These  introduce  a  clause,  or  less  frequently  a 
sentence,  that  is  dependent  on,  or  in  some  way  inferior  in  distinc- 
tion to  a  principal.  They  suggest  conditions,  limitations,  excep- 
tions, accompaniments  of  time,  place,  and  manner,  and  the  like. 

LIST. —  ifj  provided;  though,  although,  whereas,  inasmuch  as,  unless,  save, 
except;  when,  while;  for,  because;  that,  in  order  that. 

41.  What  should  be  made  subordinate  and  what  principal,  is  not 
always  easy  to  determine  ;  indeed,  the  art  of  subordination  is  one 
of  the  most  delicate  and  difficult  in  the  writer's  province.    He  needs 
therefore,  for  the  sake  of  precision,  to  give  minute  and  habitual 
study  to  the  relative  importance  of  his  statements,  and  arrange  or 
construct  them  accordingly. 

ILLUSTRATIONS.  —  Imperfect  subordination  of  ideas  is  shown  in  the  follow- 
ing :  "  Henry  V.  was  one  of  those  few  young  men  who  give  up  their  youth  to 
carousal  and  folly,  with  the  resolve  that,  when  they  are  older,  they  will  settle 
down  to  a  steadier  life,  and  -who  succeed  in  carrying  out  their  better  purpose." 
Here  the  two  statements  cannot  equally  be  made  of  "few  young  men";  in- 
deed, it  is  only  the  latter  that  can  rightly  be  predicated  of  them.  The  first 
clause  ought  therefore  to  be  so  subordinated  in  structure  as  to  be  obviously 
preparatory  for  the  second;  thus:  "Henry  V.  was  one  of  those  few  young 
men  who,  having  given  tip  .  .  .  with  the  resolve  that,  etc.,  actually  succeed  in 
carrying  out  their  better  purpose." 

The  following  sentence  appears  in  King  James's  version  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment :  "  But  God  be  thanked  that  ye  were  the  servants  of  sin,  but  ye  have 
obeyed  from  the  heart  that  form  of  doctrine  which  was  delivered  you."  Here 
it  is  evident  that  the  thanks  are  due  not  for  what  is  said  in  the  first  clause  but 
only  for  the  fact  mentioned  in  the  second.  The  makers  of  the  Revised  Ver- 
sion, recognizing  this,  subordinate  thus :  "  But  thanks  be  to  God,  that,  whereas 
ye  were  servants  of  sin,  ye  became  obedient  from  the  heart  to  that  form  of 
teaching  whereunto  ye  were  delivered." 

42.  If  the  form  of  the  conditional  clause  is  used,  it  should  ex- 
press a  real  condition,  and  the  kind  of  condition  intended.     This 
ought  to   go  without   saying ;   but   a  tendency  of  rapid  writers 
now-a-days  to  use  the  conditioning  particle  as  a  mere  conveni- 
ence for  grouping  loosely  connected   ideas,  makes   the   caution 
necessary. 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  141 

EXAMPLE. — The  following  is  quoted  from  a  leading  newspaper:  — 
"  The  spectacle  of  the  opening  night  was  very  brilliant,  and  the  good  feel- 
ing unmistakable.  If  the  beginning  is  favored  by  fashion,  and  if  fashion  is 
proverbially  fickle,  and  if  mere  national  feeling  and  pride  cannot  sustain  such 
an  enterprise  permanently,  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  it  is  not  upon  such  sup- 
ports that  the  American  opera  relies." 

Here  it  seems  at  first  sight  that  the  relation  expressed  by  though  would 
come  nearer  the  sense  intended;  but  a  substitution  of  that  particle  for  the  ifs 
reveals  the  fact  that  the  subordinated  clauses  are  after  all  not  real  conditions 
of  the  principal.  The  passage  can  be  remedied  only  by  recast. 

43.  Subordination  by  means  of  a  conjunction  may  be  augmented, 
that  is,  the  subordinate  clause  made  less  emphatic,  by  condensed 
structure   (See    Condensation)  where   occasion   permits,  and   by 
inconspicuous  position  of  the  subordinated  clause.     The  opposite 
means  are  relied  on  for  making  the  condition  emphatic. 

EXAMPLES.  —  Note  the  difference  in  emphasis  between  the  conditional 
clauses  in  the  following  examples.  "  Even  so  faith,  if  it  hath  not  works,  is 
dead,  being  alone."  Here  the  if-clause  attracts  comparatively  little  attention, 
being  buried  in  the  sentence.  Compare  now  the  following:  — 

"  But  now  farewell.     I  am  going  a  long  way 
With  these  thou  see'st  —  if  indeed  I  go  — 
(For  all  my  mind  is  clouded  with  a  doubt) 
To  the  island-valley  of  Avilion." 

Here  the  if-clause  has  an  emphatic  place,  being  after  the  principal  assertion ; 
and  the  condition  is  made  distinctive  by  the  word  "  indeed,"  and  the  paren- 
thesis following. 

The  subordinating  particle  though  may  be  removed  from  the  beginning  of 
its  clause,  when  ttiere  is  occasion  to  make  the  clause  emphatic;  for  example:  — 

"  My  spirit  longs  for  thee 

Within  my  troubled  breast ; 
Unworthy  though  I  be 
Of  so  divine  a  guest." 

Compare  for  emphasis,  "  Though  this  be  madness,  yet  there  is  method  in't." 

44.  Subordination  inside  of  a  clause  already  subordinate  requires 
careful  management.     A  second  subordinate  clause,  if  introduced 
by  the  same  conjunction  as  the  preceding,  is  in  danger  of  being 
counted  as  coordinate  with,  instead  of  subordinate  to,  the  other. 


142  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "If  the  man  will  make  full  restitution  of  the  stolen  goods, 
if  he  is  honest  in  his  expressed  purpose  to  lead  a  better  life,  he  may  be  par- 
doned." Here  the  subordination  would  be  better  effected  by  another  conjunc- 
tion :  "provided  indeed  he  is  honest,"  etc.  Notice  how  this  aids  the  relation 
of  the  clauses. — The  particle  provided  would  be,  perhaps,  too  prosaic  for 
poetry;  but  notice  the  following :  — 

"  But  thou  —  if  thou  wilt  seek  earnestly  unto  God, 
And  make  supplication  unto  the  Almighty,  — 
So  be  that  thou  art  pure  and  upright,  — 
Verily  then  He  will  awake  for  thee, 
And  will  restore  the  habitation  of  thy  righteousness." 

Here  the  second  subordination  is  made  consistently  with  the  poetic  nature  of 
the  passage. 

Adversative. — These  introduce  a  new  statement  contrary  in 
some  respect  to  the  preceding,  —  either  as  limiting,  or  as  arresting 
a  seeming  inference  from  it. 

LIST. — The  representative  of  adversative  particles  is  BUT.  Others  are: 
still,  yet,  however,  only,  nevertheless,  notwithstanding,  at  the  same  time,  for 
all  that,  after  all. 

The  word  -whereas  may  have  either  a  subordinating  or  adversative  sense ; 
or  it  may  combine  the  two. 

45.  When  the  word  but  is  used  to  arrest  a  seeming  inference 
from  the  preceding  and  turn  the  thought  in  opposite  direction,  be 
sure  that  such  inference  is  natural,  and  that  the  added  idea  is 
some  way  antithetic ;  in  other  words,  that  the  adversative  relation 
is  real. 

EXAMPLES.  —  In  the  sentence  "  He  is  poor,  but  proud,"  the  antithesis  of 
"  proud "  to  "  poor "  is  real,  because  it  is  natural  to  infer  that  a  poor  man 
would  be  humble.  Compare,  however,  the  following :  "  Luther's  character 
was  emotional  and  dogmatic,  but  exceedingly  courageous."  Here  "  courage- 
ous "  does  not  arrest  any  natural  inference  from  the  preceding ;  on  the  con- 
trary it  seems  to  supply  a  thought  in  the  same  direction,  and  the  but  has  no 
real  adversative  office.  And  would  be  more  accurate.  Or  if  we  were  to  take 
as  the  inference  that  Luther,  being  emotional  and  dogmatic,  was  nothing  else, 
we  could  say,  "  Luther's  character  was  emotional  and  dogmatic,  but  also  ex- 
ceedingly courageous." 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  143 

46.  The  adversative  relation  is  susceptible  of  various  degrees. 
The  strongest  adversative,  but,  when  used  exclusively,  as  it  often  is 
by  unskilled  writers,  gives  a  certain  hardness  and  lack  of  shade  to 
the  style,  which  might  be  relieved  by  the  more  frequent  use  of 
softened  adversatives,  such  as  however,  yet,  while,  whereas,  which 
make  the  relation  less  obtrusive. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  effect  of  the  exclusive  use  of  but  adversative  can  be 
shown  only  by  an  extended  passage;  here  an  example  may  be  adduced  show- 
ing how  it  may  be  used  where  the  relation  requires  a  softened  degree.  "  This 
society  was  founded  in  1817,  since  which  time  it  has  done  a  truly  noble 
work  in  aiding  needy  applicants,  for  help.  But  at  present  the  churches  seem 
little  disposed  to  support  it."  Here  the  word  but  is  too  abrupt  and  strong; 
better :  "  At  present,  however,  the  churches  seem  little  disposed  to  support 
it." 

In  the  following  sentence  an  accumulation  of  buts  is  prevented  by  while, 
which  in  its  place  is  a  strong  enough  adversative:  "Now  to  him  that  worketh 
is  the  reward  not  reckoned  of  grace  but  of  debt ;  while  (instead  of  buf)  to 
him  that  worketh  not  but  believeth  on  him  that  justifieth  the  ungodly,  his  faith 
is  counted  for  righteousness." 

Illative. — These  conjunctions  (name  derived  from  Latin  illatum, 
in-ferre)  indicate  inference,  effect,  or  consequence. 

LIST. — Therefore,  wherefore,  hence,  whence,  consequently,  accordingly, 
thus,  so,  then,  so  then. 

47.  The  kind  of  inference,  as  indicated  by  the  adverbial  force  of 
the  conjunction,  is  a  matter  requiring  accurate  thought,  and  too 
often  left  loose.     The  word  thus,  for  instance,  is  sometimes  made 
to  do  duty  in  a  variety  of  relations,  where  therefore,  or  accordingly, 
or  consequently  would  be  more  exact. 

EXAMPLE.  —  "Two  emotions  were  paramount  in  his  eager  desire:  hope 
that  he  might  perform  the  task  more  thoroughly  than  had  any  of  his  prede- 
cessors, and  fear  lest  in  any  part  of  it  he  should  fall  below  his  ideal.  Thus, 
being  so  powerfully  impelled,  he  soon  distanced  all  competitors."  Here 
"  thus,"  which  properly  means  "  in  this  manner,"  does  not  express  the  exact 
nature  of  the  sequence,  and  is  all  the  more  confusing  for  being  very  near  the 
meaning.  The  word  accordingly  would  seem  to  be  more  accurate. 


144  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

VII.   NEGATION. 

The  typical  means  of  expressing  simple  negation  is  the  adverb 
not.  Special  claims  of  emphasis,  variety,  or  exactness  often  lead, 
however,  to  certain  modifications  of  this  adverb,  which  are  here 
noted. 

Degrees  of  Negation.  —  For  some  purposes  it  is  desirable  to 
intensify  the  negation,  for  others  to  soften  it. 

48.  Of  the  comparatively  mild  negative  not,  such  adverbs  as  not 
at  all,  in  no  wise,  by  no  means,  mark  various  degrees  and  shades 
of  intensification.     The  most  energetic,  because  most  universal, 
negative  to  be  found  in  the  language,  is  the  adjective  no,  taking 
the  place  of  the  adverb. 

EXAMPLE.  —  Note  the  difference  in  strength  between  these  two  forms  of 
negation  :  "  Since  the  fall,  mere  men  are  unable  in  this  life  perfectly  to  keep 
the  commandments  of  God."  Compare :  "  No  mere  man,  since  the  fall,  is 
able,"  etc.  The  greater  energy  of  no  is  partly  due  to  the  fact  that  it  may 
easily  be  placed  first  in  its  clause,  and  partly  to  the  fact  that  the  negation  of  a 
subject  means  more  than  the  negation  of  an  act. 

Two  or  three  examples  from  Carlyle,  whose  tendency  to  negation  was  al- 
most a  mannerism,  will  illustrate  various  degrees  of  negation. 

"  Shall  we  say,  then,  Dante's  effect  on  the  world  was  small  in  comparison  ? 
Not  so:  his  arena  is  far  more  restricted;  but  also  it  is  far  nobler,  clearer;  — 
perhaps  not  less,  but  more  important." — "This  Mahomet,  then,  we  will  in  no 
wise  consider  as  an  Inanity  and  Theatricality,  a  poor  conscious  ambitious 
schemer;  we  can»0/  consider  him  so."  —  "He  is  by  no  means  the  truest  of 
Prophets;  but  I  do  esteem  him  a  true  one."  —  "No  most  gifted  eye  can  ex- 
haust the  significance  of  any  object."  —  "No  Dilettantism  in  this  Mahomet;  it 
is  a  business  of  Reprobation  and  Salvation  with  him  ;  of  Time  and  Eternity  : 
he  is  in  deadly  earnest  about  it !  " 

49.  When  a  direct  negation  would  be  too  obtrusive,  or  when  in 
a  series  of  negations  variety  of  expression  is  desired,  the  negative 
may  be  softened.     The  usual  way  of  doing  this  is  by  beginning  the 
sentence  or  clause  with  nor,  uncorrelative. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "But  those  were  simple,  fortunate  times  for  the  young  min- 
strel, who  took  his  success  modestly  and  gladly,  nor  forgot  his  work  withal; 
and  he  now  enjoyed  a  season  as  poetic  as  ever  afterward  came  to  him." 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  145 

"Yet  in  my  secret  mind  one  way  I  know, 
Nor  do  I  judge  if  it  shall  win  or  fail ; 
But  much  must  still  be  tried,  which  shall  but  fail." 

The  negation  may  sometimes  be  softened  by  being  placed  in  an  inconspicu- 
ous position;  for  example:  "  In  fiction,  no  more  than  elsewhere,  may  a  writer 
pretend  to  be  what  he  is  not,  or  to  know  what  he  knows  not." 

Double  Negative.  —  In  English  two  negatives  connected  with 
the  same  verb  annul  each  other ;  that  is,  they  are  equivalent  to  an 
affirmative.  They  cannot,  therefore,  be  used  for  the  sake  of 
stronger  negation ;  but  for  modified  affirmation  the  double  negative 
is  extensively  employed. 

50.  The  value  of  the  double  negative  as  an  affirmative  lies  in 
the  fact  that  it  expresses  a  milder  and  more  guarded  degree  than 
does  direct  affirmation ;  it  is  employed,  accordingly,  in  the  inter- 
ests of  precision. 

EXAMPLE.  —  "  It  is  not  zwprobable  that  from  this  acknowledged  power  of 
public  censure  grew  in  time  the  practice  of  auricular  confession."  Here  the 
writer  will  not  commit  himself  to  the  unqualified  assertion  that  such  a  thing 
is  probable;  so  he  chooses  rather  to  negative  the  opposite.  That  the  double 
negative  is  employed  for  precision,  and  softens  instead  of  strengthens,  is  evi- 
dent in  the  following :  "  She  was  not  twenty,  probably  handsome,  and  not  im- 
probably  giddy :  being  quite  without  evidence,  we  cannot  judge  what  was 
rumor  and  what  was  truth." 

This  construction  may  easily  be  overworked;  note  for  example  the  follow- 
ing :  "Yet  it  is  not  wwremarkable  that  an  experienced  and  erudite  Frenchman, 
not  wwalive  to  artistic  effect,  has  just  now  selected  this  very  species  of  charac- 
ter for  the  main  figure  in  a  large  portion  of  an  elaborate  work." 

51.  Essentially  the  same  principle  is  often  employed  for  the 
sake  of  emphasis,  in  what  is  called  Litotes.     This  is  a  virtual 
double  negative ;  for,  in  a  place  where  a  strong  affirmation  would 
naturally  be  expected,  it  puts  the  negation  of  its  opposite,  with  the 
effect  of  strengthening  the  assertion. 

EXAMPLES.  —  From  Macaulay:  "He  (the  Puritan)  had  been  wrested  by 
no  common  deliverer  from  the  grasp  of  no  common  foe.  He  had  been  ran- 
somed by  the  sweat  of  no  vulgar  agony,  by  the  blood  of  no  earthly  sacrifice." 
Here,  where  we  would  quite  naturally  expect  such  expressions  as  "  omnipotent 


146  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

deliverer,"  "  supernatural  agony,"  "  transcendent  sacrifice,"  we  find  the  asser- 
tion much  more  strongly  made  by  the  negation  of  "common,"  "vulgar," 
"  earthly." 

The  force  of  this  construction  lies  in  its  suggesting  more  than  it  says;  hence 
it  is  much  used  in  innuendo.  When  Carlyle  says,  "The  Editor  is  clearly 
no  witch  at  a  riddle,"  it  is  a  playful  way  of  saying  that  he  is  remarkably 
obtuse. 

VIII.   SUSPENSION. 

It  was  remarked  under  the  head  of  Prospective  Reference  that 
an  idea  may  acquire  distinction  by  being  prepared  for  and  expected. 
This  principle  is  the  basis  of  the  suspended,  otherwise  called 
periodic,  structure  ;  which  consists  in  delaying  the  significant  part 
of  the  assertion  by  introducing  before  it  preliminaries,  conditions, 
and  the  like,  constructions  that,  being  in  their  nature  incomplete, 
refuse  emphasis  to  themselves,  and  serve  to  accumulate  emphasis 
for  what  succeeds. 

Field  of  its  Use.  —  Suspension  is  usually  understood  as  referring 
to  the  structure  of  clauses  and  sentences ;  and  it  is  to  this  appli- 
cation of  it  that  the  name  period  is  distinctively  given.  A  periodic 
sentence  is  one  in  which  the  idea  and  the  grammatical  structure 
are  alike  incomplete  until  the  end  is  reached ;  which  depends 
therefore  for  distinction  on  some  essential  feature  that  is  of  purpose 
delayed. 

The  same  principle  is  extensively  employed,  also,  in  larger 
relations,  being  applicable  to  any  passage  where  a  word  or  idea  is 
skillfully  kept  back  while  at  the  same  time  the  reader's  attention 
is  stimulated  to  look  for  it.  It  is  thus  somewhat  analogous  to  the 
denouement  in  a  narrative. 

EXAMPLES.  —  I.  In  sentence-structure.  "  On  whatever  side  we  contemplate 
Homer,  what  principally  strikes  us  is  his  wonderful  invention."  Here  the 
word  "  invention,"  which  is  the  most  significant  word  of  the  sentence,  is  stu- 
diously delayed  to  the  very  end.  —  "  Sitting  last  winter  among  my  books,  and 
walled  round  with  all  the  comfort  and  protection  which  they  and  my  fireside 
could  afford  me,  to  wit,  a  table  of  high-piled  books  at  my  back,  my  writing- 
desk  on  one  side  of  me,  some  shelves  on  the  other,  and  the  feeling  of  the 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  147 

warm  fire  at  my  feet,  I  began  to  consider  how  I  loved  the  authors  of  these 
books."  Here  the  real  assertion  is  not  begun  until  the  words,  "  I  began  to 
consider";  what  precedes  being  merely  preparatory  for  it. 

2.  Suspense  of  interest  in  larger  relations.  "  Was  there  then  any  man,  by 
land  or  sea,  who  might  serve  as  the  poet's  type  of  the  ideal  hero?  To  an 
Englishman,  at  least,  this  question  carries  its  own  reply.  For  by  a  singular 
destiny  England,  with  a  thousand  years  of  noble  history  behind  her,  has 
chosen  for  her  best-beloved,  for  her  national  hero,  not  an  Arminius  from  the 
age  of  legend,  not  a  Henri  Quatre  from  the  age  of  chivalry,  but  a  man  whom 
men  still  living  have  seen  and  known.  For,  indeed,  England  and  all  the  world 
as  to  this  man  were  of  one  accord;  and  when  in  victory,  on  his  ship  Victory, 
Nelson  passed  away,  the  thrill  which  shook  mankind  was  of  a  nature  such  as 
perhaps  was  never  felt  at  any  other  death  —  so  unanimous  was  the  feeling  of 
friends  and  foes  that  earth  had  lost  her  crowning  example  of  impassioned 
self-devotedness  and  of  heroic  honor." 

Here  the  word  "  Nelson  "  is  so  evidently  the  goal  of  the  reader's  waiting 
attention  that  it  can  be  safely  put  in  a  subordinate  relation,  while  the  emphatic 
elements  of  its  sentence  are  left  free  for  other  ideas. 

Means  of  effecting  Suspense.  —  The  principal  means  are  here 
mentioned  and  exemplified,  each  by  itself;  though  several  differ- 
ent methods  of  suspending  the  sense  may  be  employed  in  the  same 
period. 

52.  For  suspense  the  protasis  or  antecedent  clause,  introduced 
by  a  subordinating  conjunction,  as  if  or  when,  is  placed  first. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  suspensive  effect  of  a  single  if-clause  may  of  course  be 
added  to  by  a  succession  of  conditions.  Observe  the  effect  in  the  following, 
from  Cardinal  Newman :  "  If  then  the  power  of  speech  is  a  gift  as  great  as 
any  that  can  be  named,  —  if  the  origin  of  language  is  by  many  philosophers 
even  considered  to  be  nothing  short  of  divine, —  if  by  means  of  words  the 
secrets  of  the  heart  are  brought  to  light,  pain  of  soul  is  relieved,  hidden  grief 
is  carried  off,  sympathy  conveyed,  counsel  imparted,  experience  recorded,  and 
wisdom  perpetuated,  —  if  by  great  authors  the  many  are  drawn  up  into  unity, 
national  character  is  fixed,  a  people  speaks,  the  past  and  the  future,  the  East 
and  the  West  are  brought  into  communication  with  each  other,  —  if  such 
men  are,  in  a  word,  the  spokesmen  and  prophets  of  the  human  family,  —  it 
will  not  answer  to  make  light  of  Literature  or  to  neglect  its  study;  rather  we 
may  be  sure  that,  in  proportion  as  we  master  it  in  whatever  language,  and  im- 
1'ibe  its  spirit,  we  shall  ourselves  become  in  our  own  measure  the  ministers  of 
like  benefits  to  others,  be  they  many  or  few,  be  they  in  the  obscurer  or  the 


148  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

more  distinguished  walks  of  life,  —  who  are  united  to  us  by  social  ties,  and  are 
within  the  sphere  of  our  personal  influence." 

Observe  that  after  such  a  long  suspensive  preparation  as  the  above,  the 
answering  assertion  must  have  bulk  and  importance  enough  to  correspond. 
The  effect  would  have  been  rather  abrupt  and  disappointing,  for  example,  if 
the  sentence  had  been  stopped  at  the  words  "or  to  neglect  its  study";  we 
naturally  expect  more,  to  answer  to  the  elaborate  preface.  In  the  following, 
from  Thomas  Moore,  this  feeling  of  expectation  is  raised  just  in  order  that  it 
may  be  answered  by  a  sudden  and  unexpected  turn  in  the  thought :  — 

"  Good  reader,  if  you  e'er  have  seen, 

When  Phoebus  hastens  to  his  pillow, 
The  mermaids,  with  their  tresses  green, 

Dancing  upon  the  western  billow ; 
If  you  have  seen  at  twilight  dim, 
When  the  lone  spirit's  vesper-hymn 

Floats  wild  along  the  winding  shore, 
If  you  have  seen  through  mist  of  eve 
The  fairy  train  their  ringlets  weave, 
Glancing  along  the  spangled  green ;  — 

If  you  have  seen  all  this,  and  more, 
God  bless  me  !  what  a  deal  you've  seen  /  " 

53.  An   adverbial   phrase,  and   in   correspondingly  increasing 
degree  a  succession  of  adverbial  phrases,  may  in  like  manner  be 
used  to  accumulate  emphasis  for  the  concluding  member  of  the 
period. 

EXAMPLE.  —  From  Motley :  "  From  the  pompous  and  theatrical  scaffolds 
of  Egmont  and  Horn,  to  the  nineteen  halters  prepared  by  Master  Karl,  to 
hang  up  the  chief  bakers  and  brewers  of  Brussels  on  their  own  thresholds  — 
from  the  beheading  of  the  twenty  nobles  on  the  Horse-market,  in  the  opening 
of  the  Governor's  career,  to  the  roasting  alive  of  Uitenhoove  at  its  close  — 
from  the  block  on  which  fell  the  honored  head  of  Antony  Straalen,  to  the 
obscure  chair  in  which  the  ancient  gentlewoman  of  Amsterdam  suffered  death 
for  an  act  of  vicarious  mercy  —  from  one  year's  end  to  another's — from  the 
most  signal  to  the  most  squalid  scenes  of  sacrifice,  the  eye  and  hand  of  the 
great  master  directed,  without  weariness,  the  task  imposed  by  the  sovereign." 

54.  A  participle  or  adjective  modifying  the  subject  is  a  valuable 
means  of  effecting  suspense ;  the  means,  however,  most  liable  to 
excess.     §ee  "Participles/'  p.  115,  above, 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  149 

EXAMPLE.  — "  Accustomed  to  a  land  at  home  where  every  height,  seen 
dimly  in  the  distance,  might  prove  a  cathedral  tower,  a  church-spire,  a  pilgrim's 
oratory,  or  at  least  a  way-side  cross,  the  religious  explorers  must  have  often 
strained  their  sight  in  order  to  recognize  some  object  of  a  similar  character." 

55.  Suspense  is  often  effected  by  placing  the  predicate  first,  or, 
what  is  of  the  same  principle,  the  characteristics  of  an  object 
before  the  object  itself  is  named. 

EXAMPLE.  —  From  Matthew  Arnold :  "  Spenser's  manner  is  no  more  Hom- 
eric than  is  the  manner  of  the  one  modern  inheritor  of  Spenser's  beautiful 
gift,  —  the  po«  t,  who  evidently  caught  from  Spenser  his  sweet  and  easy-slipping 
movement,  and  who  has  exquisitely  employed  it;  a  Spenserian  genius,  nay,  a 
genius  by  natural  endowment  richer  probably  than  even  Spenser;  that  light 
which  shines  so  unexpected  and  without  fellow  in  our  century,  an  Elizabethan 
born  too  late,  the  early  lost  and  admirably  gifted  Keats." 

Cautions  and  Suggestions.  —  While  the  suspensive  structure  is 
useful  for  climax  and  unity,  and  for  imparting  a  certain  stateliness  to 
the  style,  it  imposes  on  the  reader  a  greater  burden  of  interpreta- 
tion than  do  other  structures.  The  chief  problem,  therefore,  is  to 
secure  directness  and  simplicity. 

56.  The  principal  caution  is  against  excess.     As  all  the  suspen- 
sive details  must  be  held  in  mind  until  the  key-word  is  reached,  it 
is  easy  to  make  the  number  too  great  to  be  carried,  and  the  read- 
er's attention  is  dissipated  instead  of  stimulated. 

EXAMPLE.  —  In  the  following,  which  is  quoted  from  a  newspaper,  the  accu- 
mulation of  details  becomes  almost  ludicrous  toward  the  end :  "  Shocked  by 
the  suicide  and  treachery  of  a  professed  friend,  embarrassed  by  the  broken 
condition  of  the  bank,  maddened  by  the  wild  clamor  of  an  excited  community, 
stung  by  the  harsh  reports  of  the  New  York  papers,  dreading  lest  by  reason 
of  some  technicality  his  honor  would  be  impeached,  having  borne  the  terrible 
strain  for  four  weary  days,  in  a  moment,  without  the  slightest  premeditation, 
frenzied  and  insane,  he  committed  the  deed."  It  will  be  noticed  here  that  the 
principal  means  of  suspense  is  the  participial  construction. 

57.  It  is  often  an  advantage,  when  the  number  of  suspensive 
details  is  large,  to  introduce  the  principal  assertion  piecemeal, 
between  the  members  of  the  sentence, 


150  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

EXAMPLE. —  The  following  sentence,  strictly  periodic,  is  cumbrous:  "At 
last,  with  no  small  difficulty,  after  much  fatigue,  through  deep  roads,  and  bad 
weather,  we  came  to  our  journey's  end."  Observe  the  greater  ease  and  natu- 
ralness of  the  following :  "  At  last,  with  no  small  difficulty,  and  after  much 
fatigue,  -we  came,  through  deep  roads  and  bad  weather,  to  our  journey's  end."1 

58.  Care  is  to  be  taken  what  kind  of  addition  is  made,  if  any, 
after  the  completion  of  a  period.  It  should  not  be  out  of  propor- 
tion to  what  precedes,  in  brevity  or  insignificance  of  meaning ;  and 
this  it  is  peculiarly  liable  to  be  if  it  is  a  clause  beginning  with  not  or 
which. 

EXAMPLES. — This  "  loose  addition  "  is  equally  precarious  on  any  long  sen- 
tence, whether  strictly  periodic  or  not.  The  following  examples  are  quoted 
from  Abbot. 

"  This  reform  has  already  been  highly  beneficial  to  all  classes  of  our  coun- 
trymen, and  will,  I  am  persuaded,  encourage  among  us  industry,  self-depend- 
ence, and  frugality,  and  not,  as  some  say,  wastefulness."  The  italicized  part 
ought  to  come  after  "among  us"  and  the  rest  then  be  set  off  by  but. — 
"  After  a  long  and  tedious  journey,  the  last  part  of  which  was  a  little  danger- 
ous owing  to  the  state  of  the  roads,  we  arrived  safely  at  York,  which  is  a  fine 
old  town" 

The  danger  of  such  a  loose  addition  is  that  it  may  introduce  some  fact  or 
thought  not  reconcilable  with  the  unity  of  sentence  structure.  See  page  176. 

IX.   AUGMENTATION. 

"  It  is  a  maxim  of  style  universally,"  says  Professor  Bain,  "  that 
everything  should  have  bulk  and  prominence  according  to  its  im- 
portance." This  principle  leads  the  writer  to  augment,  condense, 
or  repeat,  according  to  the  requirements  of  his  subject-matter. 

The  word  Augmentation  is  here  chosen  to  indicate  intentional 
fullness  of  statement,  made  in  order  to  give  more  time  or  more 
emphasis  to  important  elements  of  the  thought. 

Prefaced  Statement.  —  It  is  a  natural  and  frequent  impulse,  in 
the  case  of  important  statements,  to  make  some  kind  of  approach 
to  them,  by  words  or  clauses  not  indispensable  to  th;  sense. 

1  See  discussion  of  this  sentence,  and  principle  involved,  Spencer,  "  Philosophy 
of  Style,"  pp.  26,  27.  See  also  Bain's  Rhetoric,  p.  77. 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  151 

59.  A  prefacing  expression  gains  distinction  or  momentum  for 
certain  words  or  parts  of  the  thought.     Not  always,  however,  is 
such  a  device  of  advantage ;  and  its  need  or  extent  must  be  deter- 
mined by  careful  judgment,  or  it  may  easily  become  a  superfluity. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  words  it  and  there  have  already  been  mentioned  under 
prospective  reference ;  here  it  is  to  be  noted  again  that  they  are  in  their  nature 
merely  prefacing  expressions,  useful  for  the  approach  they  make  to  important 
thoughts.  Compare,  for  instance,  "  I  would  not  believe  he  listened  to  my 
voice,"  which  is  capable  of  more  than  one  emphasis,  with  "  I  would  not  be- 
lieve it  was  he  that  listened  to  my  voice,"  where  the  prefacing  words  direct 
the  emphasis.  "  There  is  a  lad  here,  which  hath  five  barley  loaves,  and  two 
small  fishes;  but  what  are  they  among  so  many?"  All  this  idea  could  be 
expressed  more  briefly,  "A  lad  here  hath  five  barley  loaves,"  etc.,  but  the 
prefacing  words  gain  distinction  for  it. 

Sometimes  the  prefacing  statement  may  be  more  extended,  a  condition,  for 
instance,  or  personal  explanation.  For  example :  "  If  we  read  of  some  illus- 
trious line,  so  ancient  that  it  has  no  beginning,  so  worthy  that  it  ought  to  have 
no  end,  we  sympathize  in  its  various  fortunes;  nor  can  we  blame  the  gener- 
ous enthusiasm,  or  even  the  harmless  vanity,  of  those  who  are  allied  to  the 
honors  of  its  name."  Here  our  sympathy  for  the  fortunes  of  the  illustrious 
line  does  not  really  depend  on  our  reading  of  it;  and  the  idea  could  be  all 
expressed  by  beginning,  "  We  sympathize  with  the  various  fortunes,"  etc., 
but  the  prefacing  conditional  clause  gives  distinction,  and  is  introduced  for 
that  purpose. 

Oratory  is  particularly  friendly  to  such  prefacing  statements;  as,  "  Let  me 
remind  the  honorable  gentleman  that,"  etc.  "  I  think  I  am  right  in  maintain- 
ing that,"  etc. 

Amplitude.  —  Not  only  at  the  beginning,  but  also  in  the  body 
of  a  sentence,  the  tendency  is  natural,  on  occasion,  to  increase  the 
number  of  words. 

60.  Of  alternative  grammatical  structures,  choose  for  amplitude 
the  fuller ;  not,  however,  unless  the  influence  of  every  added  word 

increase  the  desired  effect  of  the  passage  can  be  accurately 
letermined. 

EXAMPLES. —  I.  For  amplitude,  word-adjuncts  may  be  changed  to  clause- 
djuncts;  for  example  :  "This  expedient  should  embody  [something  that  may 

regarded  as]  a  real  requisite  to  [what  is  in  fact]  so  momentous  a  result." 
lere  the  words  in  brackets  may  be  of  real  use  in  some  circumstances. 


152  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

2.  For  amplitude,  conjunctions  are  sometimes  used  copiously,  in  order  to 
compel  due  attention  to  every  detail  thus  connected;   for  example:  "For  I 
am  persuaded  that  neither  death,  nor  life,   nor  angels,  nor  principalities, 
nor  powers,  nor  things  present,  nor  things  to  come,  nor  height,  nor  depth, 
nor  any   other   creature,  shall   be   able   to   separate   us   from   the   love    of 
God." 

3.  In  oratory,  amplitude  of  expression  sometimes  adds  words  merely  to  aid 
the  movement  or  imaginative  power  of  a  passage.    The  following  is  from  Daniel 
Webster:  "a  Power  (the  British  Empire)  which  has  dotted  over  the  surface 
of  the  whole  globe  with  her  possessions  and  military  posts,  whose  morning 
drum-beat,  following  the  sun,  and  keeping  company  with  the  hours,  circles  the 
earth  with  one  continuous  and  unbroken  strain  of  the  martial  airs  of  England." 
On  this  E.  P.  Whipple  remarks,  "  Perhaps  a  mere  rhetorician  might  consider 
superfluous  the  word  '  whole,'  as  applied  to  '  globe,'  and  '  unbroken,'  as  follow- 
ing '  continuous  ' ;  yet  they  really  add  to  the  force  and  majesty  of  the  expres- 
sion." 

6 1.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  however,  that  amplitude  can  be 
reduced  wholly  to  rule.  In  all  its  real  effectiveness  it  must  be  left 
to  the  instinctive  sense  of  a  full  mind  seeking  its  best  individual 
expression.  To  quote  the  words  of  Cardinal  Newman,  words 
which  themselves  illustrate  their  theme  :  — 

"  And,  since  the  thoughts  and  reasonings  of  an  author  have,  as 
I  have  said,  a  personal  character,  no  wonder  that  his  style  is  not 
only  the  image  of  his  subject,  but  of  his  mind.  That  pomp  of 
language,  that  full  and  tuneful  diction,  that  felicitousness  in  the 
choice  and  exquisiteness  in  the  collocation  of  words,  which  to  pro- 
saic writers  seem  artificial,  is  nothing  else  but  the  mere  habit  and 
way  of  a  lofty  intellect.  Aristotle,  in  his  sketch  of  the  magnani- 
mous man,  tells  us  that  his  voice  is  deep,  his  motions  slow,  and  his 
stature  commanding.  In  like  manner,  the  elocution  of  a  great 
intellect  is  great.  His  language  expresses,  not  only  his  great 
thoughts,  but  his  great  self.  Certainly  he  might  use  fewer  words 
than  he  uses ;  but  he  fertilizes  his  simplest  ideas,  and  germinates 
into  a  multitude  of  details,  and  prolongs  the  march  of  his  sen- 
tences, and  sweeps  round  to  the  full  diapason  of  his  harmony,  as 
if  KvSti  yaftav,  rejoicing  in  his  own  vigor  and  richness  of  resource. 
I  say,  a  narrow  critic  will  call  it  verbiage,  when  really  it  is  a  sort 


FUNDAMENTAL   PROCESSES.  153 

of  fullness  of  heart,  parallel  to  that  which  makes  the  merry  boy 
whistle  as  he  walks,  or  the  strong  man,  like  the  smith  in  the  novel, 
flourish  his  club  when  there  is  no  one  to  fight  with." 

Under  this  head  of  Augmentation  are  to  be  considered  also 
Redundancy  and  Circumlocution,  which  may  or  may  not  be  justi- 
fiable, according  as  they  are  the  result  of  skillful  intent  or  of  mere 
carelessness. 

Redundancy.  —  This  consists  of  additions  not  essential  to  the 
sense,  and  beyond  the  requirements  of  the  grammatical  construc- 
tion. When  it  is  merely  a  crude  repetition  of  what  is  already  im- 
plied, especially  in  unimportant  words,  it  has  no  excuse. 

EXAMPLE.  —  In  the  sentence,  "  They  returned  back  again  to  the  same  city 
from  whence  they  came  forth,"  the  five  words  in  italics  are  redundant  gram- 
matically :  nor  is  there  any  excuse  for  them  on  the  score  of  distinction. 

62.  "Redundancy  is  permissible,"  says  Professor  Bain,  "for  the 
surer  conveyance  of  important  meaning,  for  emphasis,  and  in  the 
language  of  passion  and  poetic  embellishment." 

EXAMPLES.  —  "  We  have  seen  with  our  eyes  ;  we  have  heard  with  our  ears." 
These  redundancies  give  a  real  emphasis  and  distinction.  —  Under  this  head 
come  also  many  of  the  essential  and  decorative  epithets  of  poetry ;  see  pages 
56,  57- 

Circumlocution.  —  The  nature  of  this  is  indicated  by  the  derived 
meaning  of  the  word  —  "  talking  around  "  ;  it  is  a  diffuse  mode  of 
speaking,  which  cannot  be  remedied  by  cutting  out  parts  of  the 
passage,  but  only  by  recasting. 

EXAMPLE.  —  The  commonly  quoted  example  is  a  good  example  of  needless 
circumlocution :  — 

"  Pope  professed  to  have  learned  his  poetry  from  Dryden,  whom,  whenever 
an  opportunity  was  presented,  he  praised  through  the  whole  period  of  his  ex- 
istence with  unvaried  liberality;  and  perhaps  his  character  may  receive  some 
illustration,  if  a  comparison  be  instituted  between  him  and  the  man  whose 
pupil  he  was." 

This  is  intolerably  diffuse,  and  may  be  condensed  thus :  "  Pope  professed 
himself  the  pupil  of  Dryden,  whom  he  lost  no  opportunity  of  praising;  and 
his  character  may  be  illustrated  by  a  comparison  with  his  master  " 1 

1  Cited  from  Bain's  "  English  Composition  and  Rhetoric,"  pp.  71,  72. 


154  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

63.  Circumlocution  is  sometimes  employed  to  good  advantage 
for  humorous  effect.     In  this  use  of  it,  however,  there  is  required 
good  taste  and  fine  literary  sense  to  keep  it  distinct  from  the  vice 
of  "fine  writing."     See  preceding,  page  45. 

EXAMPLE.  —  The  following,  from  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  is  spoken  in  the 
assumed  character  of  a  professor :  "  There  is  one  delicate  point  I  wish  to 
speak  of  with  reference  to  old  age.  I  refer  to  the  use  of  dioptric  media  which 
correct  the  diminished  refracting  powers  of  the  humors  of  the  eye,  —  in  other 
words,  spectacles." 

64.  Circumlocution  may  be  justifiable  also  when  it  is  used  for 
what  is  called  Euphemism,  that  is,  for  the  statement  of  an  unpleas- 
ant or  delicate  fact  in  softened  terms.1 

EXAMPLE. — The  following,  which  is  an  extreme  example,  suggests  that  it 
is  easy  to  carry  circumlocution  for  this  purpose  over  the  justifiable  point,  and 
make  it  ludicrous :  "  The  only  thing  we  ever  heard  breathed  against  his  per- 
sonal character  is  the  suggestion  that  his  love  of  joyous  intercourse  with 
friends  sometimes  led  him  into  a  slight  excess  of  conviviality."  In  plain  words, 
he  was  inclined  to  drink  too  much. 

X.     CONDENSATION. 

The  same  principle  that  leads  the  writer  to  augment  some  pas- 
sages leads  him  to  condense  others. 

Condensation  may  have  different  effects,  according  to  the  na- 
ture of  the  matter  condensed.  To  some  thoughts,  thoughts  im- 
portant in  themselves,  it  adds  strength,  by  concentrating  their 
significance  into  small  compass.  On  other  thoughts,  the  compara- 
tively unimportant  parts  of  the  passage,  condensation  works  an 
opposite  effect ;  it  is  a  useful  means  of  putting  them  in  unobtru- 
sive form,  that  they  may  be  passed  over  rapidly  and  not  usurp  the 
place  of  leading  elements.  It  is  essential  that  the  writer  habitually 
recognize  and  measure  both  of  these  effects,  as  occasion  rises. 

Condensation  for  the  Sake  of  Strength.  —  There  is  a  close  alli- 
ance between  brevity  and  strength ;  as  has  been  said  previously,  a 

1  Circumlocution  is  not  the  only  means,  though  perhaps  the  leading  means,  of 
euphemism.  Expressions  equally  brief  but  of  softened  meaning  may  be  used. 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES,  155 

strong  impression  is  ordinarily  a  quick  impression.  But  in  order 
that  the  quick  impression  should  be  strong,  what  is  condensed 
should  make  up  in  directness  and  suggestiveness  for  what  it  loses 
in  volume. 

65.  For  expressing  strongly  and  in  little  space,  depend  more  on 
the  noun  and  verb  than  on  qualifiers.    These  main  elements  of  the 
passage  are  what  contain  its  movement  and  significance ;  others 
limit  or  restrict,  and  by  so  much  are  apt  to  weaken  the  impression. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "  His  life  was  gentle;  and  the  elements 

So  mix'd  in  him,  that  Nature  might  stand  up 
And  say  to  all  the  world,  This  was  a  man  /" 

Consider  how  much  more  is  really  said  than  if  Shakespeare  had  named  his 
qualities — "This  was  a  patriotic,  conscientious,  single-hearted  man." 

The  following  is  quoted  from  Trevelyan's  "  Early  History  of  Charles  James 
Fox  " :  — 

"  Lord  North  .  .  .  took  occasion  on  the  next  day  to  express  his  assurance 
tliat  Sir  George  had  spoken  in  warmth.  'No,'  said  Savile;  'I  spoke  what  I 
thought  last  night,  and  I  think  the  same  this  morning.  Honorable  members 
have  betrayed  their  trust.  I  will  add  no  epithets,  because  epithets  only 
weaken.  I  will  not  say  they  have  betrayed  their  country  corruptly,  flagitiously, 
and  scandalously;  but  I  do  say  that  they  have  betrayed  their  country,  and  I 
stand  here  to  receive  the  punishment  for  having  said  so." 

66.  Another  aid  to  that  condensation  which  is  also  strength  is 
to  write  in  particular  terms  instead  of  general.     People  think  in 
particulars ;  and  when  an  idea  is  expressed  to  them  in  a  general 
and  comprehensive  term,  their  first  interpretative  process  is  to 
translate  it  into  a  particular  exemplification.     When,  however,  the 
term  is  particular  to  begin  with,  they  are  saved  that  process,  while 
the  class-idea  for  which  the  word  stands  readily  suggests  itself. 

EXAMPLE.  —  Consider  how  much  the  particulars  suggest,  and  accordingly 
how  many  more  words  it  would  take  to  say  the  same  thing  in  general  terms, 
in  the  following  two  stanzas  from  Tennyson :  — 

"  God  is  law,  say  the  wise ;  O  Soul,  and  let  us  rejoice, 
For  if  He  thunder  by  law  the  thunder  is  yet  His  voice. 

Law  is  God,  say  some :  no  God  at  all,  says  the  fool ; 

For  all  we  have  power  to  see  is  a  straight  staff  bent  in  a  pool." 


156  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

In  the  first  stanza  what  is  true  of  thunder  is  equally  true  of  all  natural  opera- 
tions, and  this  we  understand;  so  it  really  means, '  If  He  conducts  the  opera- 
tions of  nature  according  to  ascertainable  laws,  the  laws  are  none  the  less  His 
manner  of  working.'  In  like  manner  we  read  the  second  stanza  thus,  '  For 
all  we  can  see  is  just  the  phenomena  of  nature;  curious  they  are,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  refraction  of  light,  but  no  God  is  revealed  in  them.' 

67.  Figures  of  speech,  especially  metaphor,  synecdoche,  and 
metonymy,  are  aids  to  condensation,  expressing,  as  they  generally 
do,  much  more  than  could  be  given  in  the  same  space  and  with 
equal  suggestiveness  by  literal  statement. 

EXAMPLES.  —  To  say,  "The  cares  and  responsibilities  of  a  sovereign  often 
disturb  his  sleep"  is  lengthy  and  not  impressive;  but  say  the  same  thing  in 
synecdoche,  "  Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown,"  and  it  is  simple,  di- 
rect, and  striking. 

Consider  also  how  a  well-chosen  figure  may  open  a  suggestiveness  that  may 
stand  for  indefinitely  more  expressed  in  full;  for  example,  from  Lamb:  "I 
confess  myself  utterly  unable  to  appreciate  that  celebrated  soliloquy  in  Hamlet, 
beginning  'To  be  or  not  to  be,'  or  to  tell  whether  it  be  good,  bad,  or  indifferent, 
it  has  been  so  handled  and  pawed  about  by  declamatory  boys  and  men,  and 
torn  so  inhumanly  from  its  living  place  and  principle  of  continuity  in  the 
play,  till  it  is  become  to  me  a  perfect  dead  member." 

68.  A  certain  strong  abruptness  is  given  to  a  thought  by  cutting 
away  elements  that  merely  connect  or  fill  up,  and  by  discarding 
conditional  clauses  and  limitations. 

EXAMPLES.  —  Some  of  the  chief  cases  of  this  kind  may  be  enumerated. 

1.  Cutting  away  conjunctions.     When  the  conjunctional  relation  —  coo'rdi- 
native,  adversative,  or  illative  —  is  obvious,  the   conjunction  may  often  be 
omitted  with  advantage.     For  example :  — 

"  So  strength  first  made  a  way, 
Then  beauty  flowed,  then  wisdom, ^honor./^pleasure." 

"You  say  this;  I  deny  it,"  is  much  stronger  than  "but  I  deny  it,"  or,  "I,  on 
the  other  hand,  deny  it." 

2.  Omission  of  the  article  often  gives  compactness  and  strength  to  a  pas- 
sage.    For  example :  "  Faster  than  ever/\mill-race  we  ran  past  them  in  our 
inexorable  flight.     Oh,  Craving  of  hurricanes  that  must  have  sounded  in  their 
young  ears  at  the  moment  of  our  transit !  " 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  157 

3.  The  auxiliaries  of  a  verb  may  sometimes  be  omitted  to  advantage;  as, 
"The  young  man  trembled  not,  nor  shivered,"  instead  of  "The  young  man 
did  not  tremble,  nor  did  he  shiver." 

4.  What  would  naturally  be  given  in  a  subordinate  clause  may  be  con- 
densed and  strengthened  by  being  put  in  the  imperative  or  in  a  principal 
clause;   as,  "Strip  Virtue  of  the  awful  authority  she  derives  from  the  general 
reverence  of  mankind,  and  you  rob  her  of  half  her  majesty."    This  is  equiva- 
lent to  "T^you  strip  Virtue,"  etc.  —  "The  wind  passeth  over  it,  and  it  is 
gone,"  for,  "As  soon  as"  or  "If  the  wind  passeth  over  it,"  etc. 

Condensation  for  the  Sake  of  Eapidity.  —  Apart  from  the  gen- 
eral desirability  of  writing  some  passages  in  more  sententious  style 
than  others,  there  is  also  frequent  occasion,  in  the  same  passage, 
to  condense  one  part  in  comparison  with  another,  in  order  that  it 
may  be  more  rapidly  passed  over. 

69.  Rapidity  is  gained  and  strength  of  impression  lost  by  the 
use  of  a  general  and  comprehensive  term  as  equivalent  for  a  num- 
ber of  particulars.    It  gives  a  more  inclusive  idea,  but  correspond- 
ingly less  vivid.     The  writer  has  therefore  to   choose   between 
rapidity  and  vigor. 

EXAMPLES.  — "  He  devours  literature,  no  matter  of  what  kind."  This 
general  term  is  brief,  and  sufficient  for  a  rapid  touch.  If,  however,  it  is  desired 
to  make  the  statement  emphatic  and  vivid,  the  term  is  naturally  particularized : 
"  Novels  or  sermons,  poems  or  histories,  no  matter  what,  he  devours  them  all." 

The  question  whether  any  sentence-element  may  best  be  written  in  a  gen- 
eral term  or  in  particulars  is  determined  mostly  by  its  importance  or  insignifi- 
cance. Some  elements  it  would  be  pedantic  to  particularize;  they  are  not 
important  enough  to  bear  it.  For  example,  the  phrase  "in  every  British 
colony,"  would  be  ludicrous  if  paraphrased  thus  :  "  under  Indian  palm-groves, 
amid  Australian  gum-trees,  in  the  shadow  of  African  mimosas,  and  beneath 
Canadian  pines." 

70.  For  the  sake  of  a  lighter  touch  and  more  rapid  movement 
the  writer  has  often  to  cut  down  sentence-elements  from  the  clause 
form  to  a  word  or  a  phrase.     The  habit  of  doing  this  whenever 
practicable  is  of  great  value,  because  it  leads  the  writer  to  search 
for  suggestive  and  significant  words,  and  to   prune  down    every 
superfluous  construction. 


158  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

THE  PRINCIPAL  OCCASIONS  OF  THIS  KIND  ENUMERATED  AND  EXEMPLI- 
FIED.—  I.  There  are  many  adjectives  in  the  language  which  have  been  coined 
as  equivalents  for  clauses;  these,  of  course,  can  be  employed  with  great  ad- 
vantage. For  example :  "  The  extent  and  fertility  of  the  Russian  territory  are 
such  as  to  furnish  facilities  of  increase  and  elements  of  strength  which  no  na- 
tion in  the  world  enjoys."  A  single  word  may  represent  the  last  clause  fully 
enough :  "  to  furnish  unparalleled  facilities  for  the  increase  of  her  population 
and  power."  —  "  The  style  of  this  book  is  of  such  a  nature  that  it  cannot  be 
understood";  that  is,  unintelligible.  "This  is  a  cardinal  feature  of  the  insti- 
tution," says  as  much  as,  "  This  is  a  feature  on  which  much  depends." 

2.  Many  parts  of  a  statement,  instead  of  being  expressed  in  full,  may  be 
given  by  implication.     For  example :  "  Gladiatorial  shows  were  first  discour- 
aged, and  finally  put  down,  by  the  humanizing  spirit  of  Christianity."     This 
italicized  part  gives  by  implication  both  the  agent  and  the  means;   it  is  equiva- 
lent to  "  The  spirit  of  Christianity  was  humanizing,  and  therefore,"  etc.,  or 
"  Christianity,  being  of  a  humanizing  spirit,  discouraged,"  etc. 

3.  A  phrase-epithet,  or  a  name  of  some  kind  constructed  for  the  occasion, 
is  often  a  valuable  means  both  of  condensation  and  suggestiveness;  for  example : 
"  Shall  not  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  do  right?"    Here  the  name  is  equivalent 
by  implication  to  a  clause.     The  following  sentence  is  lengthy :  "  Napoleon 
might  be  expected  to  hold  different  language  when  he  was  elated  by  the  vic- 
tory of  Austerlitz  from  what  he  held  when  he  was  depressed  by  his  imprison- 
ment at  St.  Helena."    By  the  construction  of  two  epithets  it  is  much  condensed : 
"  The  conqueror  of  Austerlitz  might  be  expected  to  hold  different  language 
from  the  prisoner  of  St.  Helena" — Observe,  such  epithets  are  not  effective 
when  chosen  as  mere  finery;  they  must  have  close  relation  to  the  rest  of  the 
idea;  for  example,  "The  Merry  Monarch  died  in  the  fifty-fourth  year  of  his 
age."     What  significance  in  the  name  "  Merry  Monarch  "  here  ?    For  phrase- 
epithets,  see  preceding,  page  57. 

4.  The  participial  construction  is  a  valuable  means  of  cutting  down  a  clause; 
see  preceding,  page   115,  with  the   cautions  there  given  against  ambiguity. 
"  This  done  {for  when  this  was  done},  he  retired."     "France  at  our  doors 
(though  France  is  at  our  doors),  he  sees  no  danger  nigh."     The  mark  of  the 
conjunctional  relation  ("though")  is  here  omitted  by  poetic  license. — The 
use  of  a  participle  with  subject  not  a  part  of  the  principal  sentence  —  a  con- 
struction parallel  to  the  Ablative  Absolute  in  Latin  —  is  foreign  to  the  genius 
of  English,  and  requires  caution  and  moderation. 

5.  Sometimes  two  sentences  may  be  condensed  into  one  by  apposition; 
for  example,  "  We  called  at  the  house  of  a  person  to  whom  we  had  letters  of 
introduction,  a  musician,  and,  what  is  more,  a  good  friend  to  all  young  stu- 
dents of  music."    This  is  equivalent  to,  "  He  was  a  musician,"  etc. 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  159 

6.  A  parenthesis  may  sometimes  be  used  with  advantage  to  brevity;  for 
example,  "  We  are  all  (and  who  would  not  be?)  offended  at  the  treatment  we 
have  received."  It  gives  the  question  too  much  prominence,  as  well  as  more 
lengthiness,  to  append  it  in  a  separate  sentence.  Parentheses  are,  however, 
to  be  used  with  extreme  care.1 

71.  Another  means  of  condensation  is  the  ellipsis  of  such  words 
as  can  be  spared  without  impairing  the  clearness  of  the  statement. 
Here,  however,  the  writer  needs  to  be  sure  of  his  reason  for 
sparing  a  word. 

EXAMPLES.  —  I.  Ellipsis  of  the  relative  for  condensation  is  common.  It  oc- 
curs most  naturally  when  the  relative  clause  is  inside  of  a  prepositional  phrase  or 
some  other  sentence-member  already  subordinate;  for  example:  "We  know 
the  instructors  were  masters  of  the  art /^ they  taught."  "  —  but  more  beautiful 
yet  when  the  rest  is  one  of  humility  instead  of  pride,  and  the  trust  no  more  in 
the  resolution ^ we  have  taken,  but  in  the  hand^we  hold."  For  other  exam- 
ples of  omission  of  relative,  see  preceding,  pages  51,  131. 

2.  The  common  subject  of  several  verbs,  and  the  common  object  of  several 
verbs  or  prepositions,  may  often  be  given  but  once  for  all;  for  example,  "  He 
resided  here  many  years,  and,  after  he  had  won  the  esteem  of  all  the  citizens, y\ 
died."  —  "  He  came  to,  and  was  induced  to  reside  in,  this  city,"  is  shorter  than, 
"  He  came  to  this  city,  and  was  induced  to  reside  in  it."  This  construction, 
called  technically  the  "  splitting  of  particles,"  is  to  be  used  only  with  great 
caution,  and  with  no  long  delay  after  the  particle.  Some  writers  condemn  it 
altogether,  on  the  ground,  as  one  writer  expresses  by  an  example  of  the  very 
fault  condemned,  that  "Elegance  prohibits  an  arrangement  that  throws  the 
emphasis  on,  and  thus  causes  a  suspension  of  the  sense  at,  a  particle  or  other 
unimportant  word." 

The  following  sentence,  from  Thackeray,  illustrates  both  the  above  men- 
tioned means  of  condensation  by  ellipsis.  "  On  Wednesday  he  (George  IV.) 
was  very  affectionate  with  that  wretched  Brummel,  and  on  Thursday  forgot 
him;  ^cheated  him  even  out  of  a  snuff-box  which  he  owed  the  poor  dandy;^ 
saw  him  years  afterwards  in  his  downfall  and  poverty,  when  the  bankrupt 
Beau  sent  him  another  snuff-box  with  some  of  the  snuff^he  used  to  love,  as  a 
piteous  token  of  remembrance  and  submission,  and  the  king  took  the  snuff, 
and  ordered  his  horses  and  drove  on,  and  had  not  the  grace  to  notice  his  old 
companion,  favorite,  rival,  enemy,  superior."  Observe  how  each  ellipsis  im- 
parts rapidity. 

l  The  above  examples  are  mostly  taken  from  Abbott's  "  How  to  Write  Clearly.' 


160  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 


XI.     REPETITION. 

In  some  form  or  other  repetition  is  one  of  the  most  constant 
necessities  in  writing.  The  objects  sought  thereby  are  various, 
according  to  the  matter  repeated. 

Repetition  of  Words  for  Clearness  and  Volume.  —  Under  this 
head  we  are  to  notice  some  of  those  less  prominent  elements  of 
expression  which  are  easily  neglected  but  indispensable  to  clearness. 

72.  A  word  that  is  essential  to  the  construction  of  different  mem- 
bers of  the  sentence  should  be  repeated  with  each  member,  when- 
ever its  omission  would  cause  ambiguity  or  obscurity. 

NOTE.  —  The  following  are  the  principal  cases  of  this  kind  to  be  noted  :  — 

1.  The  subject  of  several  verbs  should  be  repeated  whenever  any  word 
comes  between  that  could  usurp  the  relation;   for  example  :  "  He  professes  to 
be  helping  the  nation,  which  in  reality  is  suffering  from  his  flattery,  and  (he? 
or  which?)  will  not  permit  anyone  else  to  give  it  advice." 

2.  Repeat  a  preposition  after  a  new  conjunction,  if  any  word  has  intervened 
that  could  govern  its  object;   for  example  :  "  He  forgets  the  gratitude  that  he 
owes  to  those  that  helped  all  his  companions  when  he  was  poor  and  uninflu- 
ential,  and  (to)  his  uncle  in  particular." 

3.  A  conjunction  introducing  different  clauses  should  be  repeated  when  the 
clauses  are  long;   for  example:  "When  we  look  back  upon  the  havoc  that 
two  hundred  years  have  made  in  the  ranks  of  our  national  authors  —  and, 
above  all,  (when)  we  refer  their  rapid  disappearance  to  the  quick  succession 
of  new  competitors — we  cannot  help  being  dismayed  at  the  prospect  that 
lies  before  the  writers  of  the  present  day."    The  omission  of  when  here  would 
make  the  second  clause  parenthetical,  whereas  it  should  be  coordinate  with 
the  first  when-clause.1 

73.  When  the  first  member  of  a  sentence  is  long  and  complex, 
as  for  instance  a  subject  of  many  details,  or  a  series  of  conditional 
clauses,  some  summarizing  word  or  clause  has  often  to  be  used 
after  it,   as   a  brief  repetition    preparatory   to    the   succeeding 
member. 

EXAMPLES.  —  i.  Repetition  of  subject.  From  Macaulay:  "To  write  his- 
tory respectably  —  that  is,  to  abbreviate  despatches,  and  make  extracts  from 

J  The  atwve  examples  are  taken  from  Abbott's  "  HOW  to  Write  Clearly,"  pp.  31, 32. 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  161 

speeches,  to  intersperse  in  due  proportion  epithets  of  praise  and  abhorrence, 
to  draw  up  antithetical  characters  of  great  men,  setting  forth  how  many  con- 
tradictory virtues  and  vices  they  united,  and  abounding  in  'withs'  and  'with- 
outs '  —  all  this  is  very  easy." 

2.  Summary  of  several  conditional  clauses.  From  Burke :  "  If  I  have  had 
my  share  in  any  measure  giving  quiet  to  private  property  and  private  con- 
science; if  by  my  vote  I  have  aided  in  securing  to  families  the  best  posses- 
sion, peace;  if  I  have  joined  in  reconciling  kings  to  their  subjects,  and  sub- 
jects to  their  prince;  if  I  have  assisted  to  loosen  the  foreign  holdings  of  the 
citizen,  and  taught  him  to  look  for  his  protection  to  the  laws  of  his  country, 
and  for  his  comfort  to  the  good-will  of  his  countrymen;  —  if  I  have  thus  taken 
my  part  with  the  best  of  men  in  the  best  of  their  actions,  I  can  shut  the  book : 
I  might  wish  to  read  a  page  or  two  more,  but  this  is  enough  for  my  measure. 
I  have  not  lived  in  vain." 

In  both  these  examples  the  italicized  parts  are  summaries  for  brief  repe- 
tition. 

74.  In  oratorical  style  repetition  of  some  word  is  often  employed 
merely  to  give  requisite  sound  and  volume  to  the  expression,  or  to 
emphasize  some  important  idea  by  iteration. 

EXAMPLES.  —  i.  For  volume.  The  preceding  quotation  furnishes  an  exam- 
ple :  "  If  I  have  had  my  share  in  any  measure  giving  quiet  to  private  property 
and  private  conscience."  "  A  greater  triumph  of  wisdom  and  faith  and  cour- 
age than  even  the  English  constitution  or  the  English  liturgy."  The  repetition 
of  the  italicized  words  in  these  examples  is  not  for  clearness,  but  because  the 
repetition  gives  distinction  and  balance. 

2.  For  emphasis.  From  Macaulay :  "  But  what  then  ?  Can  you  remove  that 
distrust?  That  it  exists  cannot  be  denied.  That  it  is  an  evil  cannot  be  denied. 
That  it  is  an  increasing  evil  cannot  be  denied."  —  From  the  same:  "Now, 
therefore,  while  everything  at  home  and  abroad  forbodes  ruin  to  those  who 
persist  in  a  hopeless  struggle  against  the  spirit  of  the  age;  now,  while  the 
crash  of  the  proudest  throne  of  the  continent  is  still  resounding  in  our  ears; 
now,  while  the  roof  of  a  British  palace  affords  an  ignominious  shelter  to  the 
exiled  heir  of  forty  kings;  now,  while  we  see  on  every  side  ancient  institu- 
tions subverted,  and  great  societies  dissolved;  now,  while  the  heart  of  Eng- 
land is  still  sound;  wow,  while  old  feelings  and  old  associations  retain  a  power 
and  a  charm  which  may  too  soon  pass  away;  now,  in  this  your  accepted  time, 
now,  in  this  your  day  of  salvation,  take  counsel,  not  of  prejudice,  not  of  party 
spirit,  not  of  the  ignominious  pride  of  a  fatal  consistency,  but  of  history, 
of  reason,  of  the  ages  which  are  past,  of  the  signs  of  thjs  most  portentous 
time," 


162  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

Repetition  of  Thoughts  and  Details.  —  In  every  discourse  there 
are  numerous  passages  where  the  same  thoughts  have  to  reappear, 
it  may  be  several  times ;  or  where  a  series  of  details  have  to  be 
repeated  in  order.  The  necessity  of  such  repetition  gives  frequent 
occasion  for  the  question,  how  to  vary  terms  or  order  so  that  the 
repetition  may  not  be  too  crude  or  too  obtrusive. 

75.  But  first  it  is  to  be  noted  that  leading  ideas,  ideas  whose 
expression  has  been  reached  with  study,  as  the  exactest  possible, 
may  best  be  repeated  in  identical  terms,  not  varied.     This  needs 
to  be  said,  because  young  writers  are  often  too  afraid  of  repetition, 
and  leave  many  of  their  thoughts  too  vague  in  consequence. 

EXAMPLES.  —  This  mode  of  repetition  may  be  exemplified  from  Matthew 
Arnold,  whose  perfect  fearlessness  in  using  the  same  terms  again  and  again, 
as  often  as  occasion  rises,  is  one  of  the  most  characteristic  features  of  his 
style. 

"  Marcus  Aurelius  is  not  a  great  writer,  a  great  philosophy-maker;  he  is  the 
friend  and  aider  of  those  who  would  live  in  the  spirit.  Emerson  is  the  same. 
He  is  the  friend  and  aider  of  those  who  would  live  in  the  spirit."  —  "I  remem- 
ber hearing  him  (Wordsworth)  say  that  '  Goethe's  poetry  was  not  inevitable 
enough.'  The  remark  is  striking  and  true;  no  line  in  Goethe,  as  Goethe  said 
himself,  but  its  maker  knew  well  how  it  came  there.  Wordsworth  is  right, 
Goethe's  poetry  is  not  inevitable;  not  inevitable  enough.  But  Wordsworth's 
poetry,  when  he  is  at  his  best,  is  inevitable,  as  inevitable  as  Nature  herself." 

76.  Oftener,  however,  the  writer  seeks  some  varied  term,  which 
may  be  understood  for  the  same  thing,  and  yet  makes  the  fact  of 
repetition  less  obtrusive. 

NOTE.  —  This  kind  of  repetition  may  assume  various  aspects. 

I.  What  in  the  preceding  is  given  with  a  particular  term  may  be  repeated 
by  a  general ;  or  an  individual  may  be  referred  to  by  the  name  of  the  class. 
For  example :  "There  came  a  viper  out  of  the  heat  and  fastened  on  his  hand. 
And  when  the  barbarians  saw  the  venomous  beast  hang  on  his  hand,  they  said 
among  themselves,  No  doubt  this  man  is  a  murderer,  whom,  though  he  hath 
escaped  the  sea,  yet  vengeance  suffereth  not  to  live.  And  he  shook  off  the 
beast  \n\.o  the  fire,  and  felt  no  harm." — "In  civilized  society  law  is  the  chim- 
ney through  which  all  that  smoke  discharges  itself  that  used  to  circulate 
through  the  whole  house  and  put  every  one's  eyes  out.  No  wonder,  there- 
fore, that  the  -vent  itself  should  sometimes  get  a  little  sooty." 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  163 

2.  Repetition  of  narrative  details  may  be  made  by  mere  variation  of  ex- 
pression; notice,  for  instance,  how  in  the  following  the  same  thing  is  said  in 
three  different  ways :  "A  day  passed  away  and  his  mother  was  not  there; 
another  flew  by,  and  she  came  not  near  him;  a  third  evening  arrived,  and  yet 
he  had  not  seen  her;  and  in  four-and- twenty  hours  he  was  to  be  separated 
from  her  —  perhaps  for  ever." 

For  other  examples  of  variation  in  repetition,  see  preceding,  pages  31,  32. 

7  7.  In  the  repetition  of  a  series  of  details,  the  inverse  order  is 
sometimes  taken,  to  disguise  the  iteration. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "Make  the  heart  of  this  people  fat,  and  make  their  ears 
heavy,  and  shut  their  eyes;  lest  they  see  with  their  eyes,  and  hear  with  their 
ears,  and  understand  with  their  heart,  and  convert,  and  be  healed."  —  "  Yes, 
the  time  is  come  when  the  three  faculties  will  be  disunited,  and  their  separa- 
tion destroy  the  social,  religious  and  political  body.  What  will  happen  ?  Sen- 
sation will  produce  its  false  prophets,  and  they  will  laud  sensation.  Sentiment 
will  produce  false  prophets,  and  they  will  praise  sentiment.  Knowledge  will 
produce  false  prophets,  and  they  will  extol  mind.  The  latter  will  be  proud 
men,  who  resemble  Satan;  the  second  will  be  fanatics,  ready  to  walk  toward 
virtue,  without  judgment  or  rule ;  the  others  will  be  what  Homer  says  the 
companions  of  Ulysses  became,  when  under  the  influence  of  Circe's  ring. 
Follow  neither  of  their  three  roads,  which,  taken  separately,  conduct,  the 
first  to  the  abyss  of  materialism,  the  second  to  mysticism,  and  the  third  to 
atheism." 

78.  It  is  very  desirable  that  the  thought  should  in  some  way 
grow  in  the  repetition,  or  at  least  change  its  aspect ;  and  to  this 
end  a  term  that  is  emphasized  in  the  first  mention  should  take  a 
subordinate  place  in  the  repetition,  and  vice  versa,  so  that  each 
part  may  in  its  turn  receive  proper  distinction. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "I  had,  indeed,  begun  the  task,  and  had  failed ;  I  had  be- 
gun it  a  second  time,  and  failing  again,  had  abandoned  my  attempt  with  a 
sensation  of  utter  distaste." — Notice  how  in  the  following  stress  is  laid  first 
on  the  adverb,  and  then  on  the  verb :  "  In  the  literary  movement  of  the  be- 
ginning of  the  nineteenth  century  the  signal  attempt  to  apply  freely  the 
modern  spirit  was  made  in  England  by  two  members  of  the  aristocratic  class, 
Byron  and  Shelley.  .  .  .  But  Byron  and  Shelley  did  not  succeed  in  their  at- 
tempt freely  to  apply  the  modern  spirit  in  English  literature;  they  could  not 
succeed  in  it." 


164  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

Repetition  of  Manner  of  Expression.  —  This  is  desirable  on  the 
principle  of  economy  of  the  reader's  attention. 

79.  Elements  of  the  thought  that  are  paired  together,  or  an- 
swer to  each  other,  should  have,  if  possible,  a  similar  construction. 

EXAMPLES.  —  Notice,  in  the  following,  how  the  amended  constructions  pro- 
mote the  clearness  and  smoothness  of  the  sentence:  "He  had  good  reason  to 
believe  that  the  delay  was  not  an  accident  (accidental)  hut  premeditated,  and 
for  supposing  (to  suppose,  or  else,  for  believing,  above)  that  the  fort,  though 
strong  both  by  art  and  naturally  (nature),  would  be  forced  by  the  treachery 
of  the  governor  and  the  indolent  (indolence  of  the)  general  to  capitulate 
within  a  week." 

When  there  is  a  large  number  of  details  to  make  uniform  in  construction, 
they  may  with  elegance  be  broken  into  different  groups.  Observe  how  this  is 
done  in  the  following,  from  Cardinal  Newman.  The  groups  of  uniform  clauses 
are  indicated  by  lines.  "He  writes  passionately,  because  he  feels  keenly; 
forcibly,  because  he  conceives  vividly ;  |  he  sees  too  clearly  to  be  vague ;  he  is 
too  serious  to  be  otiose;  |  he  can  analyze  his  subject,  and  therefore  he  is  rich; 
he  embraces  it  as  a  whole  and  in  its  parts,  and  therefore  he  is  consistent;  he 
has  a  firm  hold  of  it,  and  therefore  he  is  luminous.  |  When  his  imagination 
wells  up,  it  overflows  in  ornament;  when  his  heart  is  touched,  it  thrills  along 
his  verse." 

80.  Studious  likeness  of  construction,  aided  frequently  by  anti- 
thesis, is  a  favorite  means  of  giving  special  distinction  to  related 
thoughts,  by  setting  them  in  sharp  relief  against  each  other.     This 
is  called  Balanced  Structure. 

NOTE.  —  Balance  may  occur  between  phrases,  clauses,  and  sentences.  The 
following  passages  will  exemplify  it  in  different  relations. 

1.  Phrases.    "The  daily  contemplation  of  superior  beings  and  eternal  in- 
terests."   "  For  his  sake  the  Almighty  had  proclaimed  his  will  by  the  pen  of  the 
Evangelist,  and  the  harp  of  the  prophet." 

2.  Clauses.    "  They  habitually  ascribed  every  event  to  the  will  of  the  Great 
Being,  for  -whose  power  nothing  was  too  vast,  for  whose  inspection  nothing  was 
too  minute."    "  He  remits  his  splendor,  but  retains  his  magnitude ;  and  pleases 
more,  though  he  dazzles  less." 

3.  Sentences.    "  If  they  were  unacquainted  with  the  works  of  philosophers 
and  poets,  they  were  deeply  read  in  the  oracles  of  God.     If  their  names  were 
nut  found  in  the  registers  of  heralds,  they  were  recorded  in  the  Book  of  Life. 
If  their  steps  were  not  accompanied  by  a  splendid  train  of  menials,  legions  of 
ministering  angels  had  charge  over  them." 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  165 

Tautology.  —  Tautology  is  the  repetition  of  the  same  sense  in 
different  words.  It  generally  betokens  either  carelessness  or  pov- 
erty of  thought ;  but  in  some  cases  it,  or  an  approach  to  it,  is 
admissible. 

EXAMPLES  OF  TAUTOLOGY.  —  From  Tillotson:  "  Particularly  as  to  the  af- 
fairs of  this  world,  integrity  hath  many  advantages  over  all  the  fine  and  artifi- 
cial ways  of  dissimulation  and  deceit;  it  is  much  the  plainer  and  easier,  much 
the  safer  and  more  secure  way  of  dealing  with  the  world ;  it  has  less  of 
trouble  and  difficulty,  of  entanglement  and  perplexity,  of  danger  and  hazard 
in  it.  The  arts  of  deceit  and  cunning  do  continually  grow  weaker,  and  less 
effectual  and  serviceable  to  them  that  use  them." 

81.  The  coupling  of  synonymous  words  and  phrases  is  admissi- 
ble when  one  word  does  not  express  the  full  sense  intended,  when 
greater  stress  is  needed  on  some  prominent  part,  or  in  impassioned 
language. 

EXAMPLES.  —  i.  "  No  two  words,"  says  Professor  Bain,  " are  exactly  synony- 
mous for  all  purposes;  one  has  a  shade  that  the  other  wants;  and  it  may  take 
both  to  give  the  whole  meaning.  Hence  we  are  accustomed  to  such  phrases 
as  'ways  and  means,'  'passing  and  transitory,'  'subject-matter.'" 

2.  For  stress:  "  The  head and  front  of  his  offending."    "The  end  and  de- 
sign" 

3.  Language  of  passion.    From  Pitt :  "  I  am  astonished,  I  am  shocked  to 
hear  such  principles  confessed ;  to  hear  them  avowed  in  this  house  and  in  this 
country."1 

XII.   INVERSION. 

In  prose,  as  well  as  in  verse,  the  writer  has  frequent  occasion  to 
invert  the  grammatical  order  of  parts  in  a  sentence, — to  put  verbs 
before  their  subjects,  objects  and  predicate  adjectives  before  their 
verbs,  or  adverbial  words  and  phrases  at  the  beginning  of  the 
sentence.  The  purposes  of  such  inversion  are  here  discussed. 

Inversion  for  Emphasis.  —  Every  word  in  the  sentence  has  its 
natural  position,  where  it  fulfills  its  function,  but  attracts  no  special 
attention.  As  soon,  however,  as  the  word,  whatever  it  is,  becomes 

1  The  above  remarks  and  examples  on  Tautology  are  taken  from  Bain's  Rhetoric, 

pp.  68-70. 


166  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

a  predominating  element  of  the  thought,  the  impulse  is  natural  to 
move  it  out  of  its  ordinary  position,  toward  the  beginning  or  end 
of  the  sentence  ;  and  the  mere  fact  that  it  "is  in  an  unwonted  place 
gives  it  distinction. 

82.  Inversion  for  emphasis,  being  a  feature   more   natural  to 
impassioned  style,  should  be  employed   sparingly  and   only  with 
obvious  justification ;  otherwise  it  may  easily  make  the  style  con- 
torted and  artificial. 

EXAMPLES  OF  INVERSION.  —  "Great  is  the  mystery  of  space,  greater  is  the 
mystery  of  time."  Here  the  predicate  adjective  is  made  emphatic  by  being 
placed  first.  — "Silver  and  gold  have  I  none."  Here  the  object  of  the  verb 
is  similarly  emphasized.  —  "Go  I  must";  "do  it  he  shall."  Here  both  the 
verbal  root  is  emphasized  by  the  unusual  first  place,  and  the  auxiliary  by  being 
placed  last.  —  "  Behold,  now  is  the  accepted  time."  Here  emphasis  is  given 
by  inversion  to  the  adverb.  —  "From  the  days  of  infancy  still  lingers  in  my 
ears  this  opening  of  a  prose  hymn  by  a  lady  then  very  celebrated."  Here  the 
adverbial  phrase  is  emphasized  by  coming  first,  and  the  subject,  "  this  open- 
ing," by  coming  after  its  verb  "  lingers." 

Inversion  for  Adjustment.  —  By  this  is  meant  the  change  of 
order  made  in  adjusting  the  ideas  of  one  clause  or  sentence  to 
another.  The  predominant  idea  of  a  preceding  sentence  exerts 
an  attraction  on  the  similar  or  correspondent  idea  in  the  following ; 
and  naturally  the  latter  is  drawn  to  the  beginning  of  its  sentence. 

83.  Inversion  for  adjustment  effects  emphasis  of  the  words  dis- 
placed, as  well  as  groups  together  related  ideas ;  and  is  thus  a  very 
valuable  means  of  securing   continuity  and   subordination  in  the 
thought. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "  His  friends  took  the  necessary  steps  for  placing  him  as  an 
apprentice  at  some  shopkeeper's  in  Penrith.  This  he  looked  upon  as  an  in- 
dignity, to  which  he  was  determined  in  no  case  to  submit."  Here  the  second 
sentence  takes  up  the  idea  that  the  preceding  laid  down,  and  makes  it  the 
basis  of  the  next  assertion.  —  From  Cardinal  Newman  :  "  I  do  not  claim  for 
him  (the  great  author),  as  such,  any  great  depth  of  thought,  or  breadth  of 
view,  or  philosophy,  or  sagacity,  or  knowledge  of  human  nature,  or  experience 
of  human  life,  though  these  additional  gifts  he  may  have,  and  the  more  he  has 
of  them  the  greater  he  is;  but  I  ascribe  to  him,  as  his  characteristic  gift,  in  a 
large  sense  the  faculty  of  Expression."  Here  the  details  in  the  first  clause 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  167 

attract  the  summary  of  them  in  the  second  to  the  beginning  of  its  clause.  — 
From  Ruskin :  "  We  are  all  of  us  willing  enough  to  accept  dead  truths  or 
blunt  ones;  which  can  be  fitted  harmlessly  into  spare  niches,  or  shrouded  and 
coffined  at  once  out  of  the  way;  we  holding  complacently  the  cemetery  keys, 
and  supposing  we  have  learned  something.  But  a  sapling  truth,  with  earth 
at  its  root  and  blossom  on  its  branches;  or  a  trenchant  truth,  that  can  cut  its 
way  through  bars  and  sods;  most  men,  it  seems  to  me,  dislike  the  sight  or 
entertainment  of,  if  by  any  means  such  guest  or  vision  may  be  avoided."  Here 
the  attracted  idea  is  a  contrasted  one. 

84.  Unless,  however,  some  consideration  of  emphasis  or  adjust- 
ment calls  for  it,  the  mere  attraction  of  one  word  for  another  is 
not  a  sufficient  reason  for  inversion. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "  Little  by  little  -were  their  apartments  stripped  of  articles  of 
ornament,  piece  by  piece  was  their  stock  of  furniture  diminished;  and  the 
future  offered  them  no  hope."  Here  a  partial  inversion,  so  far,  that  is,  as  to 
place  the  adverbs  first,  is  justifiable  on  the  ground  of  emphasis;  but  to  say  fur- 
ther "  were  their  apartments  stripped,"  etc.,  instead  of  "  their  apartments  were 
stripped,"  has  no  reason  but  the  attraction  of  the  adverb,  and  sounds  artificial. 

Observe  that  in  an  impassioned  sentence,  where  all  attractions  are  stronger, 
the  complete  inversion  is  more  natural ;  «s,  "  Gladly  would  I  go,  and  freely 
would  I  offer  myself  for  my  country's  welfare." 

XIII.  EUPHONY. 

Although  only  a  comparatively  small  proportion  of  literature  is 
ever  read  or  recited  aloud,  yet  it  should  always  be  composed  with 
due  regard  to  its  sound,  and  subjected  continually  to  the  test  of 
articulation.  Violations  of  euphony  are  due  mostly  to  inadver- 
tence ;  and  it  is  indeed  surprising  how  many  infelicities  of  sound 
are  admitted  in  hasty  writing,  or  by  an  imperfectly  trained  ear. 

Sequence  of  Sounds.  —  Cases  where  caution  is  especially  needed 
in  managing  successions  of  sounds  may  be  included  under  two 
rules. 

85.  The  writer  should  be  on  his  guard  against  sounds  hard  to 
)ronounce  together,  or  making  a  harsh  combination.     When  for 

ic  sense  a  word  containing  a  harsh  sound  must  be  adopted, 
special  care  should  be  devoted  to  relieving  the  harshness  by  the 
:hoice  of  the  accompanying  words. 


168  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

ILLUSTRATIONS.  —  Some  words,  in  themselves  harsh,  cannot  well  be  avoided; 
as  "inextricable,"  "pledged,"  "adjudged,"  "fifthly";  but  when  combinations 
of  such  words  occur  the  harshness  is  intolerable.  Try,  for  instance,  such  com- 
binations as  the  following:  "stretched  through";  "high-arched  church"; 
"there  is  in  the  face  an  in^jr/licable  expression  of  sadness";  "an  inner  indi- 
cation." 

The  same  fault  of  harshness  is  shown  in  a  sequence  of  unaccented  short 
syllables;  as  in  "primarily,"  "peremptorily,"  "  cursorily,"  "  lowlily,"  "  state- 
lily." 

As  an  illustration  of  the  contrast  between  harsh  and  euphonious  language, 
compare  the  following  line, 

"  'T  was  thou  that  smooth'd'st  the  rough  rugg'd  bed  of  pain,"  l 
with  the  following, 

"  Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns," 
or  the  following, 

"  The  light  that  never  was,  on  sea  or  land, 
The  consecration,  and  the  poet's  dream." 

86.  Care  is  needed  also  to  avoid  jingling  recurrences  of  the 
same  or  similar  sounds.  An  inadvertent  rhyme  is  such  a  palpable 
indication  of  thoughtlessness  that  it  can  hardly  escape  being  greeted 
with  a  smile. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "  As  I  gazed  upon  the  mighty  work,  I  said  to  myself,  '  now 
Athens  is  indeed  secure ;  come  Greek  or  come  Persian,  nothing  will  subdue 
Aer.'" — "The  river  has  its  present  name  the  same  as  the  name  the  Indians 
gave  it."  —  "  He  felt  afraid  to  mingle  in  such  a  fray."  —  "  There  is  an  ordi- 
nance of  nature  at  which  men  of  genius  are  perpetually  fretting,  but  which 
does  more  good  than  many  laws  of  the  universe  that  they  praise;  it  is,  that 
ordinary  women  ordinarily  prefer  ordinary  men." 

Sound  and  Sense. — A  great  many  words  in  the  language  were 
evidently  formed  as  the  result  of  an  effort  to  make  sound  corre- 
spond with  sense,  and  be  a  kind  of  audible  picture  of  it.  Poetry 
deals  with  such  words,  and  especially  with  combinations  wherein 
movement  and  articulation  produce  this  result  together,  more 

1  On  this  line,  which  is  ascribed  to  a  certain  Mr.  Bowyer,  De  Quincey  remarks, 
" '  Smooth'd'st ! '  Would  the  teeth  of  a  crocodile  not  splinter  under  that  word  ?  It 
seems  to  us  as  if  Mr.  Bowyer's  verses  ought  to  be  boiled  before  they  can  be  read." 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  169 

largely  than  does  prose ;  yet  for  the  latter  also  there  is  a  consid- 
erable field  for  the  employment  of  such  words  and  combinations. 
87.  It  is  a  fulfilment  and  not  a  transgression  of  euphony  to 
make  the  sound  correspond  to  the  sense,  even  though  it  lead  to 
the  employment  of  harsh  combinations  to  portray  a  correspond- 
ing idea.  The  difference  is  at  once  detected  between  a  crude 
harshness  and  a  skillful  one. 

ILLUSTRATIONS.  —  Observe  what  descriptive  power  the  italicized  words  have 
in  the  following :  "The  hurricane  had  come  by  night,  and  with  one  fell  swash 
had  made  an  irretrievable  sop  of  everything."  Here  the  words  answer  in 
sound  to  the  sense. 

The  difference  between  such  words  and  others  may  be  seen  in  alternative 
expressions  of  the  same  idea.  Compare  for  instance,  "  The  water  was  boiling, 
and  threw  up  a  great  fountain  from  its  midst,"  with,  "The  spray  was  hissing 
hot,  and  a  huge  jet  of  water  burst  up  from  its  midst."  Notice  how  much  more 
vividness  there  is  in  "  He  plunged  into  the  river,"  than  in  "  He  threw  himself 
into  the  river  " ;  in  "  The  horse  came  galloping  down  the  road,"  than  in  "  The 
horse  came  quickly."  Says  Professor  De  Mille :  "  Such  is  the  nature  of  lan- 
guage that,  if  the  best  possible  word  be  chosen,  it  will  often  prove  to  be  one 
of  this  description.  This  choice  of  the  best  word  means  precision,  and  hence 
the  effort  to  be  precise  will  often  lead  to  excellence  of  another  and  very  differ- 
ent kind."1 

For  examples  of  this  kind  of  usage  in  poetry,  see  preceding,  page  62. 

XIV.   RHYTHM. 

In  speaking  of  the  rhythm  of  prose,  distinction  must  be  made 
between  rhythm  and  metre.  The  latter,  which,  as  the  name  im- 
ports, is  measured  rhythm,  is  peculiar  to  verse ;  but  an  unmeas- 
ured rhythm,  ever  varied,  yet  never  neglected,  is  equally  natural 
to  artistic  prose. 

The  nature  and  limits  of  rhythm  in  prose  are  suggestively  defined 
in  the  following  words,  from  Robert  Louis  Stevenson :  "The  rule 
of  scansion  in  verse  is  to  suggest  no  measure  but  the  one  in  hand ; 
in  prose,  to  suggest  no  measure  at  all.  Prose  must  be  rhythmical, 
and  it  may  be  as  much  so  as  you  will ;  but  it  must  not  be  metrical. 
It  may  be  anything,  but  it  must  not  be  verse.  A  single  heroic 

1  De  Nf  ille,  "  Elements  of  Rhetoric,"  p.  273. 


170  FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES. 

line  may  very  well  pass  and  not  disturb  the  somewhat  larger  stride 
of  the  prose  style ;  but  one  following  another  will  produce  an  in- 
stant impression  of  poverty,  flatness,  and  disenchantment." 

The  points  thus  suggested  may  be  followed  out  in  a  few  practi- 
cal suggestions. 

Alternation  of  Accent  and  Pause.  —  The  beginnings  of  rhythm 
in  prose  are  due  to  the  simple  effort  to  please  the  ear  by  the  easy 
flow  of  accented  and  unaccented  syllables,  and  by  the  musical 
regularity,  yet  variety,  of  the  natural  pauses. 

EXAMPLES  OF  RHYTHMICAL  LANGUAGE.  —  The  following,  from  Burke,  has 
much  music  of  rhythm :  "  In  the  morning  of  our  days,  when  the  senses  are 
unworn  and  tender,  when  the  whole  man  is  awake  in  every  part,  and  the 
gloss  of  novelty  fresh  upon  all  the  objects  that  surround  us,  how  lively  at  that 
time  are  our  sensations,  but  how  false  and  inaccurate  the  judgments  we  form 
of  things ! " 

And  the  following,  from  Cardinal  Newman :  "  The  season  is  chill  and  dark, 
and  the  breath  of  the  morning  is  damp,  and  worshippers  are  few;  but  all  this 
befits  those  who  are  by  profession  penitents  and  mourners,  watchers  and  pil- 
grims. More  dear  to  them  that  loneliness,  more  cheerful  that  severity,  and 
more  bright  that  gloom,  than  all  those  aids  and  appliances  of  luxury  by  which 
men  nowadays  attempt  to  make  prayer  less  disagreeable  to  them.  True  faith 
does  not  covet  comforts;  they  who  realize  that  awful  day,  when  they  shall  see 
Hun  face  to  face,  whose  eyes  are  as  a  flame  of  fire,  will  as  little  bargain  to 
pray  pleasantly  now  as  they  will  think  of  doing  so  then." 

88.  The  writer  needs   to   be   on   his  guard   against   huddling 
accented  syllables  together.      A  succession  of  monosyllables,  espe- 
cially, needs  careful  management,  in  order  that  the  stress  may  not 
fall  on  too  many  words  in  succession. 

EXAMPLES.  —  In  the  sentence,  "  Good  Lord,  give  us  bread  now,"  all  the 
words  but  "  us  "  are  emphatic,  and  the  enunciation  is  heavy.  So  also  the  line, 
"  Think  not  that  strength  lies  in  the  big  round  word,"  though  meant  to  be 
metrical,  is  really  lumbering  and  unrhythmical  because  there  is  no  distribution 
of  emphasis.  —  The  monosyllabic  line,  "Bless  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  for  he  is 
good  to  us,"  on  the  other  hand,  is  not  inharmonious;  every  second  word  is 
accented. 

89.  While  it  is  very  desirable  to  secure  smoothness  and  rhythm 
in  prose,  the  writer  must  shun  the  opposite  fault  of  making  the 


FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES.  171 

rhythm  too  regular  and  uniform.  The  manner  in  which  accents 
succeed  one  another,  the  tune,  so  to  say,  of  the  movement  should 
be  varied  continually. 

ILLUSTRATION.  —  Dickens  was  especially  liable,  in  some  highly-wrought 
passages  to  fall  into  metre;  and  wellnigh  whole  paragraphs  of  his  may  some- 
times be  read  as  verse.  For  example :  — 

"  The  earth  covered  with  a  sable  pall, 
As  for  the  burial  of  yesterday ;  I 

The  clumps  of  dark  trees, 

Its  giant  plumes  of  funeral  feathers  a 

Waving  sadly  to  and  fro  :  2 

All  hushed,  all  noiseless,  and  in  deep  repose, 
Save  the  swift  clouds  that  skim  across  the  moon, 
And  the  cautious  wind, 
As  creeping  after  them  upon  the  ground 
It  stops  to  listen,  and  goes  rustling  on, 
And  stops  again,  and  follows,  like  a  savage 
On  the  trail." 

"  Here  all  the  verses  marked  I  are  strict  dramatic  blank  verse,  while  the 
couplet  marked  2  has  a  decided  trochaic  effect." 1  The  unfitness  of  such  lan- 
guage for  ordinary  prose  is  manifest. 

Cadence.  —  Rhythm,  or  the  lack  of  it,  is  especially  noticeable  at 
the  end  of  a  sentence  or  paragraph.  In  such  places  the  ear  re- 
quires that  the  sense  be  brought  to  a  gradual  fall,  not  a  sudden 
halt. 

90.  When  a  closing  idea  has  been  prepared  for,  by  suspension 
or  otherwise,  rhythm  requires  that  there  should  be  volume  of  sound 
corresponding  to  its  importance  and  emphasis. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  following  sentences  illustrate  the  disagreeable  sound  of 
an  abrupt  ending:  "Famine,  epidemics,  raged" ;  "The  soldier,  transfixed  by 
the  spear,  writhed"  ;  "  Achilles,  being  apprised  of  the  death  of  his  friend, 
goes  to  the  battlefield  without  armor,  and,  standing  by  the  wall,  shouts"  All 
these  endings  are  felt  to  be  bad,  not  because  they  are  inaccurate,  but  because 
they  are  too  short;  we  naturally  require  more  volume  and  more  rhythm  in 
words  that  in  themselves  are  so  important. 

1  Example  and  remark  quoted  from  Abbott  and  Seeley's  "  English  Lessons  for 
English  People,"  p.  98. 


172  THE  SENTENCE. 

SECTION   SECOND. 

THE   SENTENCE. 

Definition.  —  A  sentence  is  a  combination  of  words  expressing 
a  single,  complete  thought. 

"A  sentence,"  says  Professor  Bascom,1  "is  the  first  complete, 
organic  product  of  thinking,  and,  in  its  precision  and  strength, 
reveals  the  vigor  of  the  process  under  which  it  has  arisen.  A  com- 
pleteness of  grammatical  relations  marks  the  sentence.  It  is  a  full 
circle  of  dependences.  A  few  conjunctions  imply  a  previous  asser- 
tion, and  a  few  pronouns  seek  their  antecedents  outside  its  limits  ; 
aside  from  this,  every  relation  must  be  finished  within  the  complete 
sentence." 

The  sentence  may  therefore  be  regarded  as  the  unit  of  style ; 
that  is,  whatever  problems  and  processes  are  involved  in  giving  to 
style  such  qualities  as  it  ought  to  have,  in  order  to  be  perfectly 
adapted  to  its  purpose,  are  satisfied  for  the  most  part,  in  the  act  of 
giving  adequate  expression  to  a  single,  complete  thought. 


I.  STRUCTURE  OF  THE  SENTENCE. 


Elements  of  Structure.  —  For  the  simplest  expression  of  a  single 
thought,  two  elements  are  requisite  :  the  subject,  that  about  which 
something  is  said ;  and  the  predicate,  that  which  is  said  about  the 
subject.  Reduced,  then,  to  its  most  elementary  form,  the  frame- 
work of  a  sentence  consists  of  a  substantive  and  a  verb. 

Not  often,  however,  do  sentences  remain  with  these  elements  in 
their  simple  form.  The  subject,  or  the  predicate,  or  both,  may  be 
modified  by  words,  phrases,  or  clauses  ;  one  or  both  may  be  com- 
pounded ;  or  even  other  sentences,  coordinate  or  subordinate, 
may  be  combined  with  the  main  assertion  ;  and  so  the  whole  sen- 
tence, while  still  essentially  one  thought,  may  acquire  a  high  degree 
of  complexity. 

1  Bascom,  "  Philosophy  of  Rhetoric,"  p.  176. 


THE  SENTENCE,  173 

NOTE.  —  The  following  sentence,  quoted  from  Angus,  "  Handbook  of  the 
English  Tongue,"  will  illustrate  the  ways  in  which  the  structure  of  a  sentence 
may  be  made  complex. 

SUBJECT.  PREDICATE. 

I.    In  Simple  Form. 

"The  amphitheatre  was  contemplated  with  awe; 

and  enthusiasm  broke  forth." 

2.    Enlarged  and  Extended. 

"  Reduced  to  its  naked  majesty  the  was  contemplated  with  awe,  by  th« 
Flavian  amphitheatre  barbarians  of  the  north ; 

and  their  rude  enthusiasm  broke  forth  in  a  solemn  proverbial 

expression,  which  is  recorded  in  the 
eighth  century,  in  the  fragments  of 
the  venerable  Bede  :  '  As  long  as  the 
Coliseum  stands,  Rome  shall  stand.' " 
—  Gibbon. 

Here  we  see  there  are  really  two  main  sentences,  the  second  of  which,  express- 
ing the  direct  consequence  of  the  first,  may  be  counted  with  it  as  belonging 
to  the  same  comprehensive  thought.  Further,  the  modifying  elements  con- 
tain, besides  words  and  phrases,  two  subordinated  sentences,  one  a  coordinate 
relative  clause  ("which  is  recorded,"  etc.),  the  other  an  appositive  ("As  long 
as  the  Coliseum  stands,"  etc.) ,  both  modifying  an  adverbial  phrase  ("  in  a 
solemn  proverbial  expression  ").  Finally  it  is  to  be  noted  that  even  this  last 
sentence  consists  really  of  a  main  sentence  and  an  adverbial  modifying  sen- 
tence. The  whole  structure,  while  perfectly  legitimate,  thus  becomes  very 
complex. 

Each  phrase  and  clause  that  goes  to  amplify  the  simple  elements 
of  a  sentence  becomes  in  its  turn  a  realm  in  itself,  subject  not  only 
to  the  principles  governing  its  relation  to  the  main  assertion,  but 
also  to  all  the  laws  of  unity  and  emphasis  that  operate  in  the 
structure  of  any  sentence.  The  laws  of  the  sentence  all  grow  out 
of  this  simple  adjustment,  of  part  to  part,  and  of  each  part  to  the 
whole.  It  is  of  importance,  therefore,  that  the  writer  in  the  whole 
work  of  composition  keep  close  account  of  the  skeleton  structure 
of  the  sentence,  "  parse  "  it  continually  as  he  goes  along ;  and  he 
will  find  himself  greatly  aided  in  giving  a  clear  and  well-balanced 
expression  to  his  thought. 


174  THE  SENTENCE. 

The  foregoing  describes  the  elementary  structure  of  a  sentence. 
There  are  cases  where  this  structure  is  transcended,  and  others 
where  it  is  left  incomplete. 

Pleonastic  Structure.  —  By  this  is  meant  a  structure  wherein 
for  some  purpose  one  of  the  main  elements  of  the  sentence  is 
repeated. 

It  has  already  been  pointed  out  (see  paragraph  73,  page  160) 
that  for  the  sake  of  clearness  a  complicated  subject  may  be  re- 
peated in  a  summarizing  word,  generally  a  demonstrative,  which 
then  is  treated  as  if  it  were  itself  the  subject  of  the  sentence. 
This  is  necessary  in  the  management  of  a  number  of  details. 

EXAMPLE.  —  "Gold  and  cotton,  banks  and  railways,  crowded  ports  and 
populous  cities — these  are  not  the  elements  that  constitute  a  great  nation." 
Here  so  far  as  structure  is  concerned,  the  word  "  these  "  might  be  omitted, 
being  grammatically  superfluous;  but  for  clearness  it  is  valuable. 

A  pleonastic  structure  is  also  frequently  employed,  in  impas- 
sioned language,  in  order  to  give  special  distinction  to  some  ele- 
ment of  the  sentence. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "I  know  thee,  -who  thou  art."  —  "  The  boy,  oh !  where  was 
he  ?  "  —  "  He  that  hath  ears  to  hear,  let  Aim  hear." 

Under  this  head  may  also  be  mentioned  those  cases  where  the  subject  or 
the  verb  is  made  passionate  by  iteration;  as,  /,  /  must  be  counted  guilty"; 
"  Fallen,  fallen  is  Babylon  the  great,  and  is  become  a  habitation  of  devils, 
and  a  hold  of  every  unclean  spirit,  and  a  hold  of  every  unclean  and  hateful 
bird." 

Elliptical  Structure.  — This  term  is  applied  to  those  cases  where 
an  essential  part  of  the  sentence,  the  subject  or  the  verb,  is  left 
out. 

Of  course  no  essential  part  could  be  safely  left  out  if  the  reader 
could  not  at  once  mentally  complete  the  structure,  or  if  he  were 
left  uncertain  exactly  what  to  supply.  But  when  a  sentence  merely 
gives  details  in  the  same  line  as  suggested  by  the  previous  sentence, 
or  when  it  stands  like  the  answer  to  an  implied  question,  the  verb 
may  sometimes  be  omitted ;  and  with  advantage,  because  as  the 


THE   SENTENCE.  175 

omitted  part  is  not  present  to  share  the  reader's  attention,  so 
much  the  more  distinction  is  imparted  to  the  elements  remain- 
ing. 

EXAMPLES.  —  I.  The  simplest  ellipsis  is  where  the  part  left  out  has  already 
been  given  in  a  previous  clause ;  for  example  (from  Matthew  Arnold)  :  "  With 
Raphael's  character  Byron's  sins  of  vulgarity  and  false  criticism  would  have 
been  impossible,  just  as  with  Raphael's  art  Byron's  sins  of  common  and  bad 
workmanship  A." 

2.  The  next  is  ellipsis  on  account  of  a  negative  (no  or  none),  which  seems 
to  be  strong  enough  in  itself  to  dispense  with  the  substantive  verb ;  for  exam- 
ple (from  John  Morley)  :  "  Voltaire  entered  too  eagerly  into  the  interests  of 
the  world,  was  by  temperament  too  exclusively  sympathetic  and  receptive  and 
social,  to  place  himself  even  in  imagination  thus  outside  of  the  common  circle. 
Without  capacity  for  this^no  comedy  of  the  first  order.     Without  serious 
consciousness  of  contrasts,  ^ no  humor  that  endures." 

3.  But  the  substantive  verb  is  easily  left  out,  also,  in  carrying  on  a  series 
of  details;   for  example:  "  A  grave  and  peaceful  country  is  Warwickshire  — 
a  land  of  great  woods  and  heavy  fallows,  wide  views  and  slow  streams,  big 
trees  and  rank  meadows,  fine  old  houses,  and,  I  dare  say,  the  prettiest  vil- 
lages in  all  England.     Withal^an  air  of  settledness  and  abiding,  which  is 
very  reposeful  to  the  spirit  of  man  in  these  restless  days,  although  this  tranquil 
atmosphere  has  its  dangers  too." 

4.  Finally,  when  the  details  are  easily  referred  to  a  verb  in  the  preceding 
sentence ;   for  example  (again  from  John  Morley)  :  "  Who  does  not  know  this 
temper  of  the  man  of  the  world,  that  worst  enemy  of  the  world?  (/^)  His  in- 
exhaustible patience  of  abuses,  that  only  torment  others;  his  apologetic  word 
for  beliefs  that  may  perhaps  not  be  so  precisely  true  as  one  might  wish,  and 
institutions  that  are  not  altogether  so  useful  as  some  might  think  possible; 
his  cordiality  towards  progress  and  improvement  in  a  general  way,  and  his 
coldness  or  antipathy  to  each  progressive  proposal  in  particular;  his  pigmy 
hope  that  life  will  one  day  become  somewhat  better,  punily  shivering  by  the 
side  of  his  gigantic  conviction  that  it  might  well  be  infinitely  worse." 

II.    NECESSARY  QUALITIES  OF  THE  SENTENCE. 

In  the  management  of  a  structure  capable  of  such  complexity  as 
is  indicated  above,  two  main  problems  arise  :  how  to  preserve  the 
unity  of  the  sentence,  and  how  to  arrange  all  its  parts  according  to 
their  intrinsic  emphasis  and  importance. 


176  THE   SENTENCE. 

I. 

Unity  of  the  Sentence. —  However  intricate  the  idea  expressed, 
it  is  requisite  that  in  a  single  sentence  every  part  be  subservient  to 
one  principal  affirmation.  Whether  this  affirmation  is  definitely 
expressed,  as  the  central  idea  to  which  all  the  others  are  subordi- 
nate, or,  as  in  a  compound  sentence,  is  the  implied  resultant  of 
the  several  coordinate  parts,  —  in  any  case  the  sentence  must  pro- 
duce unity  of  impression. 

Faults  to  be  avoided.  — In  the  question  how  to  preserve  unity, 
a  caution  is  necessary  on  both  sides. 

1.  Most  common  is  the  fault  of  running  on  the  sentence  care- 
lessly, admitting  all  collateral  ideas  that  can  be  crowded  in,  until 
there  are  several  distinct  subjects  of  thought,  and  no  one  of  para- 
mount importance  to  which  all  may  be  counted  as  subservient. 
Such  a  sentence  is  technically  called  heterogeneous.     It  is  not  the 
same  as  a  long  sentence ;  it  is  rather  a  long  sentence  that  fails  to 
produce  unity  of  effect. 

EXAMPLE.  —  In  the  following  sentence,  quoted  from  Abbott,  the  distinct 
divisions  of  the  thought  are  indicated  by  a  mark. 

"  This  great  and  good  man  died  on  the  lyth  of  September,  1683,  leaving 
behind  him  the  memory  of  many  noble  actions,  and  a  numerous  family,  |  of 
whom  three  were  sons;  |  one  of  them,  George,  the  eldest,  heir  to  his  father's 
virtues,  as  well  as  to  his  principal  estates  in  Cumberland,  where  most  of  his 
father's  property  was  situate,  and  shortly  afterwards  elected  member  for  the 
county,  |  which  had  for  several  generations  returned  this  family  to  serve  in 
Parliament." 

Here  there  are  as  many  as  four  distinct  and  equal  subjects;  to  say  nothing 
of  the  heterogeneous  structure  of  the  individual  clauses. 

2.  Equally  great,  also,  is  the  opposite  fault   of  making  each 
assertion  into  a  distinct  sentence.     Apart  from  the  disagreeable 
effect  of  a  series  of  curt  sentences,  not  all  assertions  will  bear  to  be 
made  so  prominent.    A  statement  merely  explanatory  or  qualifying 
ought  to  be  subordinated  to  others  ;  but  when  put  into  a  sentence 
by  itself  it  has  all  the  indications  of  being  coordinate  in  value.     It 
is  often  necessary,  therefore,  to  make  a  sentence  contain  a  plu- 


THE  SENTENCE.  177 

rality  of  statements,  in  order  to  preserve  the  due  subordination  of 
what  is  subordinate  in  thought. 

EXAMPLE  OF  THE  FAULT.  —  From  Emerson:  "An  individual  is  an  encloser. 
Time  and  space,  liberty  and  necessity,  truth  and  thought,  are  left  at  large  no 
longer.  Now,  the  universe  is  a  close  or  pound.  All  things  exist  in  the  man 
tinged  with  the  manners  of  his  soul.  With  what  quality  is  in  him,  he  infuses 
all  nature  that  he  can  reach;  nor  does  he  tend  to  lose  himself  in  vastness, 
but,  at  how  long  a  curve  soever,  all  his  regards  return  into  his  own  good  at 
last.  He  animates  all  he  can,  and  he  sees  only  what  he  animates.  He  encloses 
the  world,  as  the  patriot  does  his  country,  as  a  material  basis  for  his  character, 
and  a  theatre  for  action.'''' 

Consider  what  a  detour  is  made  in  the  thought  between  the  first  and  the 
last  sentences,  part  of  the  intermediate  statements  being  preliminary  to  these, 
or  to  each  other,  others  apparently  independent.  A  smaller  number  of  sen- 
tences, with  care  to  subordinate  the  parts,  would  make  the  thought  clearer. 

Rules  for  Unity.  —  The  foregoing  cautions  would  seem  to  make 
sentence  unity  a  somewhat  elastic  quality ;  and  indeed,  the  only 
universal  rule  of  unity  that  can  be  given  is,  to  "  beware  of  distract- 
ing from  the  effect  of  the  main  statement  by  particulars  not  imme- 
diately relevant."  1 

A  few  further  suggestions,  general  and  particular,  may,  however, 
be  given. 

1.  Determine  first  of  all  what  is  to  be  the  central  thought  of  the 
sentence,  what  the  sentence  is  to  exist  for.     If  then  there  are  to  be 
coordinated  ideas,  look  that  they  be  so  closely  allied  with  the  first 
as  to  form  a  larger  unity ;  if  subordinated  ideas  are  introduced, 
seek  carefully  the  true  manner  and  degree  of  subordination,  by 
particles  or  position.     Be  careful,  also,  in  making  additions  to  the 
main  assertion,  to  seek  such  ideas  as  may  be  legitimately  subor- 
dinated. 

2.  When  an  added  clause  gives  the  consequence  or  the  obverse 
of  the  principal ;  when  it  explains,  or  exemplifies,  or  repeats  the 
idea  of  the  principal ;  when  it  is  one  of  a  number  of  clauses  having 
the  same  bearing ;  it  may  be  set  off  by  a  semicolon,  but  does  not 
necessarily  mar  the  unity  of  the  sentence. 

1  Minto,  "  Manual  of  English  Prose  Literature,"  p.  ro. 


178  THE  SENTENCE. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  following  examples  will  illustrate  relations  of  clauses. 

1.  Consequence.    "  Hence,  in  speculating  on  this  question  I  shall  take  this 
as  a  reasonable  assumption  first  of  all,  that  the  catastrophe  of  a  state  is  ao 
cording  to  its  antecedents,  and  its  destiny  according  to  its  nature;  and  there- 
fore, that  we  cannot  venture  on  any  anticipation  of  the  instruments  or  the 
conditions  of  its  death,  until  we  know  something  about  the  principle  and  the 
character  of  its  life." 

2.  Obverse.    "To  learn  from  others,  you  must  entertain  a  respect  for  them; 
no  one  listens  to  those  whom  he  contemns." 

3.  Obverse  and   explanation.     "  He  (Herodotus)  has  written  something 
better,  perhaps,  than  the  best  history;  but  he  has  not  written  a  good  history; 
he  is,  from  the  first  to  the  last  chapter,  an  inventor." 

4.  Clauses  with  common  bearing,  and  consequence.    "  These  principles  do 
not  come  simply  of  theology;   they  imply  no  supernatural  discernment;   they 
have  no  special  connection  with  Revelation;    they  almost  arise  out  of  the 
nature  of  the  case;   they  are  dictated  even  by  human  prudence  and  wisdom, 
though  a  divine  illumination  be  absent,  and  they  are  recognized  by  common 
sense,  even  where  self-interest  is  not  present  to  quicken  it;   and,  therefore, 
though  true,  and  just,  and  good  in  themselves,  they  imply  nothing  whatever  as 
to  the  religious  profession  of  those  who  maintain  them." 

5.  Repetition.    "  His  gentleness  is  made  beautiful  by  a  granite  will  behind; 
'  out  of  the  strong  comes  forth  sweetness.' " 

3.  There  are  some  kinds  of  sentences,  however,  that,  from  the 
nature  of  their  material,  cannot  so  well  group  their  clauses  by  the 
logical  associations  of  cause,  effect,  obverse,  repetition,  and  the  like. 
These  are  descriptive  and  narrative  sentences,  which  deal  with 
individual  facts  and  details  related  often  only  by  contiguity  in  space 
or  time.  For  such  sentences  the  laws  of  unity  have  to  be  some- 
what more  elastic.  It  is  often  requisite  to  bring  together  in  the 
same  sentence  several  distinct  facts,  and  thus  make  of  it  a  kind  of 
smaller  paragraph.  In  such  cases  the  only  rule  that  can  be  ob- 
served is,  to  choose  the  larger  breaks  in  the  sense. 

EXAMPLE.  — In  the  following,  from  George  W.  Cable,  the  individual  details 
are  separately  of  too  little  consequence  to  occupy  sentences  by  themselves,  and 
yet  taken  together  they  have  only  the  unity  of  occurring  close  together  in 
time;  a  unity,  however,  sufficient  for  the  kind  of  material. 

"  And  now  up  runs  Baptiste,  covered  with  slime,  and  prepares  to  cast  his 
projectiles.  The  first  one  fell  wide  of  the  mark  ;  the  schooner  swung  round 


THE  SENTENCE.  179 

into  a  long  reach  of  water,  where  the  breeze  was  in  her  favor ;  another  shout 
of  laughter  drowned  the  maledictions  of  the  muddy  man ;  the  sails  filled ; 
Colossus  of  Rhodes,  smiling  and  bowing  as  hero  of  the  moment,  ducked  as 
the  main  boom  swept  round,  and  the  schooner,  leaning  slightly  to  the  pleasant 
influence,  rustled  a  moment  over  the  bulrushes,  and  then  sped  far  away  down 
the  rippling  bayou." 

II. 

Distribution  of  Emphasis.  —  This  important  part  of  sentence 
construction  may  perhaps  best  be  introduced  by  a  general  rule  :  — 

Seek  so  to  place  words  that  they  shall  emphasize  themselves  ;  and 
do  not  make  the  interpretation  of  a  sentence  depend  on  the  manner 
in  which  it  is  read. 

This  rule  suggests  one  or  two  remarks. 

1.  If  a  word  does  not  by  its   position  emphasize   itself,  the 
writer  makes  but  a  poor  apology  for  the  fact  by  underlining.     "  In 
good   prose,"  says   Frederick  Schlegel,  "  every  word  should  be 
underlined  "  ;  by  which  he  means,  every  word  should  be  the  right 
word  and  in  the  right  place.     In  proportion  as  writers  acquire  skill 
and  fineness  in  the  use  of  language  they  trust  less  to  bringing  out 
emphasis  by  the  use  of  italics,  and  more  to  the  cogency  of  perfect 
arrangement. 

2.  If  the  interpretation  of  a  sentence  is  not  to  depend  on  a  par- 
ticular manner  of  reading,  it  is  of  great  importance  that  the  writer 
be  unerring  in  regard  to  the  natural  and  right  manner  of  reading. 
No  better  aid  to  the  proper  building  of  sentences  can  be  mentioned 
than  skill  in  interpretative  reading,  —  by  which  term  is  meant, 
reading  that  gives  to  every  word,  in  itself  and  in  its  relations  to 
other  words,  the  power  and  stress  most  consonant  with  the  writer's 
idea.     I  have  known  authors  whose  methods  of  sentence  structure, 
elaborated  with  care  yet  radically  vicious,  could  be  traced  directly 
to  a  false  standard  of  interpretative  reading. 

Emphatic  Places  of  the  Sentence.  — The  distribution  of  empha- 
sis is  first  to  be  determined  inside  of  the  sentence  or  clause,  and 
this  by  a  recognition  of  the  places  where  emphasis  is  most  natu- 
rally concentrated. 


ISO  THE   SENTENCE. 

1.  The  natural  emphatic  places  of  a  sentence  or  clause  are  the 
beginning  and  the  end,  and  it  is  here  that  we  look  for  the  most 
important  words.     The  question  how  to  give  special  distinction  to 
some  particular  word  generally  resolves  itself  into  the  question  how 
to  make  it  occupy  one  of  these  positions. 

2.  Which  of  these  positions  a  word  must  occupy,  in  order  to  be 
more  than  usually  emphatic,  depends  upon  the  place  it  naturally 
occupies  in  the  sentence.     Thus,  the  principal  subject,  belonging 
naturally  at  the  beginning,  occupies  that  place  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  when  there  has  no  special  emphasis.     To  make  the 
subject  especially  emphatic,  therefore,  we  need  to  put  it  out  of  its 
usual  position  by  driving  it  toward  the  end.    Again,  the  predicate 
verb,  adjective,  or  object,  which  belongs  naturally  in  the  latter  part 
of  the  sentence,  acquires  especial  distinction  by  being  placed  at 
the  beginning. 

NOTE. — The  means  employed  for  placing  words  out  of  their  usual  position 
have  already  been  described  and  exemplified  under  Prospective  Reference, 
Suspension,  and  Inversion.  See  preceding,  pages  133,  146,  165.  A  few  ad- 
ditional examples  may  be  given  here. 

1.  It  is  to  be  noted  that  when  the  subject  is  driven  toward  the  end,  it  may 
sometimes  become  the  grammatical  object  of  a  verb  or  preposition,  and  still 
remain  the  rhetorical  subject,  or  subject  of  remark.     The  subject  may  be  thus 
changed  :  — 

By  a  prospective  word  :  "  On  whatever  side  we  contemplate  Homer,  what 
principally  strikes  us  is  his  -wonderful  invention."  Here  the  word  "  what "  is 
used  provisionally  for  the  subject,  until  the  subject  is  expressed. 

By  suspension  :  "  On  seeking  for  some  clue  to  the  law  underlying  these 
current  maxims,  we  may  see  shadowed  forth  in  many  of  them,  the  importance 
of  economizing  the  reader's  attention.'1''  Here  the  subject  of  remark  has  by 
the  suspension  become  the  grammatical  object. 

By  inversion  :  "  The  wages  of  sin  is  death."  Here  subject  and  predicate 
have  changed  places. 

2.  The  same  means  may  be  used  in  displacing  the  predicate ;  indeed,  the 
same  agency  that  emphasizes  the  one  often  emphasizes  the  other,  in  the  same 
sentence. 

By  simple  inversion  :  "  Flashed  all  their  sabres  bare."  —  "  Blessed  are  the 
merciful." 

The  prospective  there  or  it,  which  emphasizes  the  subject,  also  emphasizes 


THE   SENTENCE.  181 

the  verb,  by  placing  it  before  its  subject ;  for  instance,  "  There  is  not,  and 
there  never  was,  on  this  earth,  a  work  of  human  policy  so  well  deserving  of 
examination,  as  the  Roman  Catholic  Church."  Here  both  subject  and  verb 
are  emphasized  by  their  unusual  position. 

3.  A  conditional  clause  at  the  beginning  of  the  sentence,  being 
a  means  of  securing  suspense,  refuses  emphasis  to  itself,  and  merely 
accumulates  emphasis  for  the  succeeding.     To  give  a  conditional 
clause  special  distinction,  therefore,  place  it  last. 

EXAMPLES  OF  EMPHASIZED  CONDITIONAL  CLAUSE.  — "  Of  what  conse- 
quence are  all  the  qualities  of  a  doctrine,  if  that  doctrine  be  not  communi- 
cated? and  communicated  it  is  not,  if  it  be  not  understood."  —  "This  would 
seem  to  indicate  that  we  may  have  —  nay,  are  already  possessed  of — an 
American  literature,  composed  of  American  materials,  provided  only  that  we 
consent  to  adopt  the  '  Saturday  Review's '  conception  of  what  literature  is." 

4.  An  adverbial  word  or  phrase,  whose  unemphatic  place  is 
before  its  verb,  is  emphasized  by  being  placed  at  the  end,  and  still 
more  by  being  placed  at  the  beginning. 

EXAMPLES.  —  I .  Adverb  at  the  end.  "  This  procedure  modifies  the  result 
considerably."  —  "  If  he  takes  this  course  he  will  surely  come  to  disaster  in 
the  end" 

2.  Adverb  at  the  beginning.  "  Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down."  — 
"  In  no  modern  country  has  ideality  been  more  retarded  than  in  our  own  ; 
and  I  think  that  certain  restrictions  have  peculiarly  limited  production  in  the 
field  of  Poetry, — the  chief  of  imaginative  arts."  Here  the  emphasis  of  the 
adverbial  phrase  is  aided  by  inversion. 

5.  "It  may  sometimes  be  the  nature  of  the  clause  to  refuse  em- 
phasis to  itself;  so  that,  though  placed  at  the  end,  it  does  not  inter- 
fere with  the  importance  of  a  preceding  clause." 

EXAMPLE.  —  "  In  the  sentence,  '  Dissipation  wastes  health,  as  well  as  time,' 
the  loose  addition,  '  as  well  as  time,'  cannot  deprive  '  health '  of  the  stress  that 
would  naturally  be  put  upon  it."  * 

Dynamic  Stress  in  Clauses  and  Sentences.  —  Emphasis  has  also 
to  be  so  distributed  as  to  make  clauses  and  sentences  rightly  an- 

1  Remark  and  example  taken  from  Bain's  "  English  Composition  and  Rhetoric," 
P-  135- 


182  THE   SENTENCE. 

swer  to  each  other ;  and  this  is  done  by  proper  recognition  of  the 
dynamic  stress. 

The  term  dynamic  stress  is  here  adopted  to  indicate  the  concen- 
tration of  emphasis  at  some  determinate  point.  Every  sentence 
and  every  clause  has  its  dynamic  point,  from  which  its  power  and 
significance  are  to  be  reckoned,  which  point  should  be  accurately 
noted  by  the  writer,  in  order  to  determine  the  proper  relation  of 
parts  to  each  other. 

The  following  suggestions  are  of  importance. 

1 .  When  a  clause  or  sentence  takes  its  cue  from  some  idea  in 
the  preceding,  it  is  important  that  the  preceding  idea  thus  recog- 
nized should  be  made  prominent  by  the  dynamic  stress. 

ILLUSTRATION.  —  From  Dickens :  "  It  was  remarkable,  that  although  he 
(Barnaby  Rudge)  had  that  dim  sense  of  the  past,  he  sought  out  Hugh's  dog, 
and  took  him  under  his  care  ;  and  that  he  never  could  be  tempted  into  Lon- 
don." Here  the  first  clause  has  not  the  right  stress  for  clearness,  because  what 
follows  derives  its  significance  from  the  dimness  of  the  vision,  not  the  posses- 
sion of  it ;  and  this  fact  of  dimness  is  left  subordinate.  By  making  it  promi- 
nent the  succeeding  is  much  better  prepared  for  and  explained ;  thus :  "  It 
was  remarkable  that,  although  his  sense  of  the  past  was  so  dim,  he  sought  out 
Hugh's  dog,"  etc. 

A  frequent  cause  of  vagueness  is  the  coupling  of  a  conjunctional  relation, 
adversative  or  illative,  on  what  is  not  the  main  idea  but  only  a  subordinate 
one,  of  the  preceding  clause.  Example  from  General  Grant's  Memoirs :  "  I 
occupied  a  tug  from  which  I  could  see  the  effect  of  the  battle  on  both  sides, 
within  range  of  the  enemy's  guns ;  but  a  small  tug,  without  armament,  was 
not  calculated  to  attract  the  fire  of  batteries  while  they  were  being  assailed 
themselves."  Here  the  adversative  takes  its  cue  from  "within  range  of  the 
enemy's  guns,"  which  is  too  insignificantly  placed  for  such  a  use  of  it.  Notice 
the  difference  of,  "  The  tug  that  I  occupied,  from  which  -I  could  see  .  .  .  was 
within  range  of  the  enemy's  guns ;  but"  etc.  Of  course,  if  stress  is  needed 
on  "  I  occupied,"  a  different  recast  is  to  be  sought. 

2.  When,  in  clauses  or  sentences  of  like  construction,  an  ele- 
ment has  once  had  a  certain  stress,  there  is  no  need  of  giving  it 
the  same  stress  again,  except  in  cases  where  it  is  desirable  to  em- 
phasize by  iteration.     It  is  better  to  put  the  repeated  idea  in  a 
subordinate  relation,  or  change  its  order,  so  that  the  stress  may  be 


THE  SENTENCE.  183 

reserved  for  a  new  aspect  of  the  thought.     See  preceding  para- 
graph 78,  page  163. 

EXAMPLES.  —  From  Canon  Farrar :  "That  Dryden  was  a  great  poet  is  un- 
deniable ;  that  he  desecrated  his  powers  and  burned  them,  like  the  incense 
of  Israel,  in  unhallowed  shrines,  is  no  less  certain."  Here  stress  is  laid  on 
"  is  undeniable  "  in  the  first  clause,  and  on  "  is  no  less  certain  "  in  the  second, 
two  corresponding  elements  of  structure,  and  not  needing  to  be  made  so  prom- 
inent by  the  iteration.  Having  emphasized  the  predicate  in  the  first  clause, 
we  may  better  lay  the  stress  on  a  new  element  in  the  second ;  thus :  "  That 
Dryden  was  a  great  poet  is  undeniable  ;  but  it  is  no  less  certain  that  he  dese- 
crated his  powers  and  burned  them,  like  the  incense  of  Israel,  in  unhallowed 
shrines." 

Another  example,  from  Anthony  Trollope :  "  That  some  facts  were  stated 
inaccurately,  I  do  not  doubt;  that  many  opinions  were  crude,  I  am  quite  sure; 
that  I  had  failed  to  understand  much  which  I  attempted  to  explain,  is  possi- 
ble." Here  the  first  two  clauses  may  fitly  stand  as  they  are,  being  a  climax; 
but  a  variation  of  stress  would  be  of  advantage  in  the  third :  — "  and  it  is 
quite  possible  that  I  had  failed  to  understand,"  etc. 

3.  In  a  series  of  sentences  the  stress  should  be  varied  continu- 
ally, so  as  to  come  in  the  beginning  of  some  sentences  and  at  the 
end  of  others,  regard  being  had  always  for  the  two  considerations  : 
variation  of  rhythm,  and  grouping  of  similar  ideas  together. 

EXAMPLE.  —  In  the  following  passage  there  is  much  monotony  in  the  sen- 
tences from  the  fact  that  all  are  of  nearly  the  same  length,  and  that  in  all  but 
one  the  stress  is  thrown  toward  the  end  by  means  of  suspensive  phrases 
placed  at  the  beginning.  The  passage  and  an  emendation  are  placed  side  by 
side. 

Centuries  ago,  before  printed  books  Centuries  ago,  before  printed  books 
and  newspapers  were  known,  there  and  newspapers  were  known,  there 
was  an  age  of  intellectual  darkness  was  an  age  of  intellectual  darkness 
and  confusion.  Between  ancient  and  and  confusion.  This  dark  period  was 
modern  civilizations,  and  separating  the  separating  era  between  ancient 
the  one  from  the  other,  this  period  of  and  modern  civilizations.  Justice  and 
darkness  extends.  In  a  world  where  liberty  were  unknown  terms  in  those 
justice  and  liberty  could  not  be  found,  days  ;  the  world's  chief  occupation 
quarreling  and  fighting  were  almost  was  quarreling  and  fighting.  A  man's 
the  sole  occupation.  Physical  strength  power  was  determined  by  his  physical 
and  the  possession  of  lands  deter-  strength,  and  by  the  lands  he  pos- 
mined  a  man's  power.  From  the  poor  sessed.  From  the  poor  peasant  to  the 


184  THE  SENTENCE. 

peasant  to   the  king,  there  was  no  king  no  person  was  secure  ;  plots  and 

person  secure  in  his  position.     In  ad-  insurrections   disturbed   every  nation 

dition  to   the   internal  disorder,  the  from  within,  while  from  without  fre- 

barbarians  were  making  frequent  in-  quent  invasions  of  barbarian  hordes 

vasions  and  devastating  the  country.  devastated  the  lands. 

True  it  is  of  literature  as  it  is  of  liberty,  that  "  eternal  vigilance  is 
the  price  "  of  a  good  style.  Let  the  writer  once  content  himself  with 
setting  down  recurring  thoughts  merely  as  it  happens,  or  neglect 
to  calculate  the  relation  of  part  to  part  in  the  whole  tissue,  and  he 
is  almost  sure  to  fall  into  a  monotonous,  wooden  style,  with  sen- 
tences all  of  one  type,  and  with  sameness  of  stress  everywhere. 
The  writer  cannot  be  too  sedulous  in  testing  every  passage  by  the 


ILLUSTRATION.  —  In  the  following,  taken  from  a  leading  newspaper,  it  will 
be  seen  that  the  sentences,  with  the  sole  exception  of  the  second,  are  all  con- 
structed in  precisely  the  same  way,  —  each  consisting  merely  of  two  assertions 
connected  by  and. 

"The  death  of  Senator  Anthony  has  been  long  expected,  and  it  releases 
him  from  a  suffering  which  was  beyond  remedy.  He  was  a  public  man  of 
long  and  honorable  service,  who  filled  every  station  to  which  he  was  called 
with  dignity  and  grace.  As  the  editor  of  the  Providence  Journal,  and  Gover- 
nor and  Senator,  he  was  the  most  important  political  figure  in  the  State,  and 
in  his  death  Rhode  Island  loses  the  most  successful  politician  in  her  history. 

"  In  other  years  Senator  Anthony's  crisp  and  pungent  paragraphs  in  the 
Journal  were  very  notable  and  influential,  and  his  paper  was  one  of  the  half- 
dozen  leading  journals  in  New  England.  It  was  by  paragraphs  rather  than 
by  elaborate  editorial  articles  that  he  preferred  to  affect  opinion,  and  in  the 
Senate  it  was  by  his  occasional  brief  speeches,  which  were  often  singularly 
felicitous,  and  not  by  participation  in  debate  or  by  prolonged  orations,  that  he 
took  part  in  the  proceedings. 

"  He  was  a  devoted  party  man,  and  his  political  experience  and  judgment 
made  him  a  wise  counsellor.  At  home  he  had  the  reputation  of  a  shrewd 
manager,  and  his  party  will  not  easily  find  so  well-trained  a  leader.  Yet  for 
a  long  time  there  have  been  complaints  that  his  rule  was  too  absolute,  and 
that  good  politics  required  more  freedom  and  independence  than  his  sway 
permitted.  Senator  Anthony's  social  sympathies  and  his  literary  tastes  made 
him  a  very  pleasant  companion,  and  his  conversation  was  full  of  interesting 
political  reminiscence.  He  had  become  the  Father  of  the  Senate,  and  no  Sena- 


THE  SENTENCE.  185 

tor  would  be  more  sincerely  mourned  by  his  associates  than  this   courteous 
gentleman  and  devoted  and  faithful  legislator." 

III.     KINDS   OF   SENTENCES. 

Under  this  head  will  be  discussed  the  nature  and  advantages  of 
long  and  short  sentences,  of  periodic  and  loose  sentences,  and  of 
the  balanced  sentence.  The  principles  governing  these  have  al- 
ready been  given,  in  the  section  on  Fundamental  Processes ;  it 
remains  merely  to  give  the  application  of  them  in  sentence-struc- 
ture, and  to  show  how  style  is  affected  by  the  prevailing  use  of  any 
one  kind  of  sentence. 

I. 

Long  and  Short  Sentences.  —  For  the  sake  of  variety  in  style, 
the  writer  needs  to  exercise  care  that  short  sentences  be  properly 
interspersed  with  long.  It  would  of  course  be  absurd  to  prescribe 
any  definite  limit  for  the  length  of  sentences,  or  to  say  in  what  pro- 
portion long  and  short  sentences  should  be  combined.  All  this 
must  be  left  to  the  writer's  discretion  and  taste.  Only  it  is  to  be 
remembered  that  a  long  succession  of  sentences  of  the  same  length, 
whether  short  or  long,  is  wearisome  ;  and  besides,  it  imparts  to  the 
style  qualities  not  suited  to  the  sense.  When  short  sentences  pre- 
dominate to  excess,  the  style  becomes  flippant  and  abrupt,  and  the 
rhythm  of  it  is  lost.  When  long  sentences  are  in  excess,  the  diffi- 
culty of  interpretation  is  increased,  and  the  style  becomes  lumber- 
ing and  heavy. 

NOTK. — The  following  passage,  from  Macaulay,  will  illustrate  the  abrupt 
and  disjointed  effect  of  a  series  of  short  sentences. 

"  We  have  had  laws.  We  have  had  blood.  New  treasons  have  been  crea- 
ted. The  press  has  been  shackled.  The  habeas-corpus  act  has  been  sus- 
pended. Public  meetings  have  been  prohibited.  The  event  has  proved  that 
these  expedients  were  mere  palliatives.  You  are  at  the  end  of  your  pallia- 
tives. The  evil  remains.  It  is  more  formidable  than  ever.  What  is  to  be 
done?" 

The  following,  which  it  is  no  more  than  fair  to  quote  also  from  Macaulay, 
will  illustrate  the  more  agreeable  effect  of  setting  long  and  short  sentences  in 
alternation  with  each  other,  and  breaking  thus  the  monotony  of  a  long  series 


186  THE  SENTENCE. 

"This  mode  of  defending  Bacon  seems  to  us  by  no  means  Baconian.  To 
take  a  man's  character  for  granted,  and  then  from  his  character  to  infer  the 
moral  quality  of  all  his  actions,  is  surely  a  process  the  very  reverse  of  that 
which  is  recommended  in  the  Novum  Organum.  Nothing,  we  are  sure,  could 
have  led  Mr.  Montagu  to  depart  so  far  from  his  master's  precepts,  except  zeal 
for  his  master's  honor.  We  shall  follow  a  different  course.  We  shall  attempt, 
with  the  valuable  assistance  which  Mr.  Montagu  has  afforded  us,  to  frame  such 
an  account  of  Bacon's  life  as  may  enable  our  readers  correctly  to  estimate  his 
character." 

Uses  of  each  Kind.  —  The  tendency  to  write  in  long  or  in  short 
sentences  is  partly  individual,  partly  due  to  a  prevailing  mode ; 
but  besides  this,  much  is  due  to  the  natural  requirements  of  the 
subject-matter. 

1 .  The  short  sentence,  being  easier  to  understand  and  remem- 
ber, is  especially  adapted  to  passages  where  important  points  have 
to  be  made,  passages  of  definition  and  discrimination,  or  on  which 
much  of  the  thought  hinges.     The  fundamental  propositions  that 
constitute  the  central  nucleus  of  a  course  of  thought,  and  passages 
of  summary,  are  generally  expressed  in  short  sentences. 

The  short  sentence  may  often  be  used  to  advantage,  also,  for 
purposes  of  emphasis,  the  successive  condensed  assertions  being 
like  so  many  hammer-strokes. 

NOTE.  —  What  one  would  give  in  separate  sentences,  another  would  often 
give  in  sentence-members,  which  themselves,  in  all  but  punctuation,  are  like 
distinct  sentences,  and  exhibit  the  brevity  and  crispness  of  a  short  sentence. 
Observe,  for  example,  the  effect  of  the  following  definitive  passage,  from  Car- 
dinal Newman  :  "Thought  and  speech  are  inseparable  from  each  other. 
Matter  and  expression  are  parts  of  one  :  style  is  a  thinking  out  into  language. 
Phis  is  what  I  have  been  laying  down,  and  this  is  literature  ;  not  things,  not 
the  verbal  symbols  of  things  ;  not  on  the  other  hand  mere  -words;  but  thoughts 
expressed  in  language."  Here  the  whole  impression  is  of  brevity.  —  The  pas- 
sage of  short  sentences  from  Macaulay  quoted  above  is  a  good  example  of 
short  sentences  employed  for  emphasis. 

2.  The  long  sentence  affords  room  to  amplify  the  sense,  by  con- 
siderations ancillary  to  the  main  idea ;  it  is  therefore  serviceable 
for  introducing  details  filling  out  a  previously  suggested  thought. 
It  is  also  better  adapted  to  rhythm  and  cadence,  and  can  be  grad- 
uated more  readily  to  a  climax. 


THE  SENTENCE.  187 

NOTE.  —  Observe  how,  in  the  following,  the  long  second  sentence  gives 
simply  the  details  amplificatory  of  the  idea  expressed  in  the  first.  The  quota- 
tion is  from  Cardinal  Newman.  "  And,  while  the  many  use  language  as  they 
find  it,  the  man  of  genius  uses  it  indeed,  but  subjects  it  withal  to  his  own  pur- 
poses, and  moulds  it  according  to  his  own  peculiarities.  The  throng  and  suc- 
cession of  ideas,  thoughts,  feelings,  imaginations,  aspirations,  which  pass  within 
him,  the  abstractions,  the  juxtapositions,  the  comparisons,  the  discriminations, 
the  conceptions,  which  are  so  original  in  him,  his  views  of  external  things,  his 
judgments  upon  life,  manners,  and  history,  the  exercises  of  his  wit,  of  his  hu- 
mor, of  his  depth,  of  his  sagacity,  all  these  innumerable  and  incessant  creations, 
the  very  pulsation  and  throbbing  of  his  intellect,  does  he  image  forth,  to  all  does 
he  give  utterance,  in  a  corresponding  language,  which  is  as  multiform  as  this 
inward  mental  action  itself  and  analogous  to  it,  the  faithful  expression  of  his 
intense  personality,  attending  on  his  own  inward  world  of  thought  as  its  very 
shadow :  so  that  we  might  as  well  say  that  one  man's  shadow  is  another's  as 
that  the  style  of  a  really  gifted  mind  can  belong  to  any  but  himself." 

3.  Between  long  sentences  of  detailed  thought  it  is  often  neces- 
sary to  insert  short  transitional  sentences,  suggesting  the  thought  in 
sententious  form,  as  a  basis  for  the  longer  treatment.  There  is, 
perhaps,  no  more  fruitful  cause  of  "  hard  reading "  than  the 
neglect  to  supply  such  compendious  means  of  transition  and  con- 
nection. 

EXAMPLE.  —  In  the  following  passage,  from  Burke,  consider  how  much  the 
clearness  and  easy  progress  of  the  thought  are  due  to  the  short  sentences  inter- 
spersed. 

"  Without  force,  or  opposition,  it  (national  chivalry)  subdued  the  fierceness 
of  pride  and  power;  it  obliged  sovereigns  to  submit  to  the  soft  collar  of  social 
esteem,  compelled  stern  authority  to  submit  to  elegance,  and  gave  a  domina- 
tion vanquisher  of  laws,  to  be  subdued  by  manners.  But  now  all  is  to  be 
changed.  All  the  pleasing  illusions,  which  made  power  gentle,  and  obedience 
liberal,  which  harmonized  the  different  shades  of  life,  and  which,  by  a  bland 
assimilation,  incorporated  into  politics  the  sentiments  which  beautify  and 
soften  private  society,  are  to  be  dissolved  by  this  new  conquering  empire  of 
light  and  reason.  All  the  decent  drapery  of  life  is  to  be  rudely  torn  off.  AH 
the  superadded  ideas,  furnished  from  the  wardrobe  of  a  moral  imagination, 
which  the  heart  owns,  and  the  understanding  ratifies,  as  necessary  to  cover 
the  defects  of  our  naked  shivering  nature,  and  to  raise  it  to  dignity  in  our 
own  estimation,  are  to  be  exploded  as  a  ridiculous,  absurd,  and  antiquated 
fashion." 


188  THE  SENTENCE, 

II. 

Periodic  and  Loose  Sentences.  —  The  principle  of  the  periodic 
sentence,  which  is  the  same  as  the  suspended  sentence,  has  been 
given,  and  its  grammatical  instruments  exemplified,  under  the  head 
of  Suspension ;  see  preceding,  page  146.  From  the  section  re- 
ferred to  it  will  appear  that  a  period  is  a  sentence  wherein  the  sig- 
nificant element  is  delayed  till  the  close ;  and  that,  in  general,  this 
structure  is  effected  "by  bringing  on  predicates  before  what  they 
are  predicated  of,  and,  which  is  virtually  a  similar  process,  quali- 
fications before  what  they  qualify ;  letting  us  know  descriptive 
adjuncts,  results,  conditions,  alternatives,  oratorical  contrasts,  of 
subjects,  states,  or  actions,  before  we  formally  know  the  particular 
subjects,  states,  or  actions,  contemplated  by  the  writer."  1 

In  a  loose  sentence  the  principle  of  suspense  is  not  observed ; 
qualifying,  explanatory,  and  preliminary  elements  are  added  as 
they  occur  to  the  mind,  after  the  ideas  to  which  they  belong,  with 
no  apparent  attempt  at  studied  and  artistic  grouping.  The  test  of 
a  loose  sentence  is,  that  it  may  be  stopped  before  the  end,  some- 
times in  several  places,  and  yet  the  part  already  given  preserve 
complete  grammatical  sense. 

NOTE.  —  Of  modern  writers,  De  Quincey  makes  the  most  copious  use  of 
the  periodic  sentence  ;  and  the  frequency  of  this  structure  imparts,  more  than 
does  any  other  element,  the  stateliness  that  is  noted  as  a  distinguishing  feature 
of  his  style.  Two  or  three  examples  will  illustrate  this  type  of  sentence  in 
De  Quincey.  "  Upon  me,  as  upon  others  scattered  thinly  by  tens  and  twenties 
over  every  thousand  years,  fell  too  powerfully  and  too  early  the  vision  of 
- "  And  if,  in  the  vellum  palimpsest,  lying  amongst  the  other  diplomata 
of  human  archives  or  libraries,  there  is  anything  fantastic  or  which  moves  to 
laughter,  as  oftentimes  there  is  in  the  grotesque  collisions  of  those  successive 
themes,  having  no  natural  connection,  which  by  pure  accident  have  consecu- 
tively occupied  the  roll,  yet,  in  our  own  heaven-created  palimpsest,  the  deep 
memorial  palimpsest  of  the  brain,  there  are  not  and  cannot  be  such  inco- 
herences." 

The  loose  sentence  may  be  exemplified  from  Carlyle,  with  whom  it  is  the 
prevailing  type  of  structure.  The  places  where  it  may  be  stopped,  and  yet 

1  Minto,  "  Manual  of  English  Prose  Literature,"  p.  4. 


THE  SENTENCE.  189 

remain  grammatically  complete,  are  marked.  "  He  (Burns)  does  not  write  from 
hearsay,  but  from  sight  and  experience ;  |  it  is  the  scenes  that  he  has  lived 
and  labored  amidst,  that  he  describes :  |  those  scenes,  rude  and  humble  as 
they  are,  have  kindled  beautiful  emotions  in  his  soul,  |  noble  thoughts,  and 
definite  resolves  ;  |  and  he  speaks  forth  what  is  in  him,  not  from  any  outward 
call  of  vanity  or  interest,  but  because  his  heart  is  too  full  to  be  silent." 

Advantages  of  each  Form,  and  Cautions  to  be  observed.  — 

The  fitness  of  either  type  of  structure  is  to  be  determined  partly 
by  the  subject-matter,  and  partly  by  the  prevailing  spirit  of  the 
passage. 

1.  The  great  advantage  of  the  periodic  form  lies  in  the  fact  that 
it  keeps  up  and  concentrates  the  reader's  attention.     This  makes 
it  easier  to  place  qualifying  words  rightly,  and  is  thus  favorable  to 
unity  of  structure,  because  all  is  grouped  with  reference  to   the 
suspended  idea.     Its  general  effect,  when  employed  in  large  pro- 
portion to  other  types,  is  to   impart   stateliness   and   dignity  to 
weighty  subjects,  and  to  light  subjects  neatness  and   finish.     In 
impassioned  writing  it  is  often  useful  as  regulating  and  moderating 
the  reader's  emotion,  by  keeping  the  tension  of  mind  uniform  until 
the  culminating  idea  is  reached. 

The  caution  needed  is,  not  to  make  the  suspensive  details  too 
numerous  or  too  abstruse ;  for  suggestions  on  this  point,  see  pre- 
ceding, page  149.  It  is  to  be  remembered  also  that  weighty 
thought  will,  in  general,  bear  the  periodic  structure  better  than 
light  subjects ;  care  is  needed  in  the  latter,  therefore,  not  to  intro- 
duce the  period  too  largely,  for  the  mere  sake  of  neatness. 

2.  The  loose  sentence  has  the  advantage  of  being  more  like 
conversation,  and  hence  more  easy,  less  formal.     It  is  thus  espe- 
cially adapted  to  the  more  familiar  kinds  of  discourse,  —  to  narra- 
tive, letter-writing,  popular  addresses  ;  literary  forms  in  which  any 
appearance  of  artificiality  is  out  of  place. 

The  term  loose  conveys  no  reproachful  sense  :  the  loose  sentence 
is  a  type  of  structure  just  as  legitimate  and  just  as  susceptible  of 
artistic  finish  as  the  periodic.  But  it  is  the  loose  structure  that  is 
most  naturally  happened  upon  without  effort ;  and  the  faults  to  be 


190  THE  SENTENCE. 

avoided  in  its  use  are  the  faults  due  to  slipshod  thinking  and  care- 
less workmanship,  —  namely,  rambling  incoherence  and  tedious 
dilution  of  the  thought. 

Combination  of  Forms.  —  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  either 
periodic  or  loose  sentences  make  up  the  sole  type  of  structure  in 
any  discourse.  .  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  actual  number  of  periodic 
sentences  is  much  smaller  than  the  number  of  loose  sentences ; 
and  a  comparatively  small  increase  in  their  proportion  is  sufficient 
to  impart  the  peculiar  effect  of  the  periodic  style. 

1.  By  the  best  writers  periodic  sentences  are  constantly  relieved 
by  loose  ones ;  it  would  indeed  be  hard  to  find  more  than  two 
periods  in  succession,  except  in  cases  where  for  some  reason  it  is 
desirable  to  make  a  series  of  sentences  studiously  alike  in  plan. 
The  requirements  of  the  dynamic   stress,  as   already  mentioned, 
would  necessitate  variation  in  structure. 

NOTE.  —  Observe  how  the  type  of  sentence  is  varied  in  the  following :  first 
a  rather  long  period,  then  a  short  intermediate  sentence,  and  thirdly  a  loose 
sentence.  The  passage  is  quoted  from  Dean  Stanley. 

"  And  then,  in  the  deep  stillness  of  the  desert  air  —  unbroken  by  falling 
stream,  or  note  of  bird,  or  tramp  of  beast,  or  cry  of  man  —  came  the  whisper, 
of  a  voice  as  of  a  gentle  breath  —  of  a  voice  so  small  that  it  was  almost  like 
silence.  Then  he  knew  that  the  moment  was  come.  He  drew,  as  was  his 
wont,  his  rough  mantle  over  his  head;  he  wrapped  his  face  in  its  ample  folds; 
he  came  out  from  the  sheltering  rock,  and  stood  beneath  the  cave  to  receive 
the  Divine  communications." 

2.  Nor  is  it  often  that  sentences  are  found  conforming  rigidly 
throughout  to  the  periodic  structure.     The  same  sentence,  espe- 
cially if  long,  may  begin  with  suspensive  structure  and   remain 
periodic  to  a  certain  point,  and  then  be  finished  loose  ;  and  often 
clauses  in  a  sentence  may  be  loose  while  the  general  type  is  peri- 
odic, or  vice  versa. 

EXAMPLE. — The  following  sentence,  from  Matthew  Arnold,  is  strictly 
periodic  as  far  as  the  word  "  opinion,"  and  loose  from  that  point  on. 

"  I  think  that  in  England,  partly  from  the  want  of  an  Academy,  partly 
from  a  national  habit  of  intellect  to  which  that  want  of  an  Academy  is  itself 
due,  there  exists  too  little  of  what  I  may  call  a  public  force  of  correct  literary 


THE  SENTENCE.  191 

opinion,  possessing  within  certain  limits  a  clear  sense  of  what  is  right  and 
wrong,  sound  and  unsound,  and  sharply  recalling  men  of  ability  and  learning 
from  any  flagrant  misdirection  of  these  their  advantages." 


III. 

The  Balanced  Sentence.  —  The  principle  of  the  balanced  sen- 
tence has  already  been  explained  and  exemplified  under  the  head 
of  Repetition  (Repetition  of  Manner  of  Expression,  page  164). 
When  the  different  elements  of  a  compound  sentence  are  made  to 
answer  to  each  other  and  set  each  other  off  by  similarity  of  form, 
the  sentence  is  said  to  be  balanced.  The  similarity  of  the  balanc- 
ing clauses  lies  partly  in  the  grammatical  structure,  and  partly  in 
the  alternation  of  emphasis.  Antithesis  is  often  employed  as  an 
aid  in  setting  clauses  over  against  each  other. 

NOTE.  —  The  Balanced  Structure  has  been  so  fully  exemplified  that  only  an 
example  or  two  need  be  given  here.  In  the  following  sentence  the  balance  is 
effected  both  by  similarity  of  structure  and  antithesis :  — 

"  He  defended  him  when  living,  amidst  the  clamors  of  his  enemies ;  and 
praised  him  when  dead,  amidst  the  silence  of  his  friends." 

In  the  following  observe  that  the  material  for  balanced  structure  is  supplied 
in  the  first  clause,  and  the  succeeding  clauses  are  then  balanced  against  each 
other :  — 

"  On  the  rich  and  the  eloquent,  on  nobles  and  priests,  they  looked  down  with 
contempt :  for  they  esteemed  themselves  rich  in  a  more  precious  treasure,  and 
eloquent  in  a  more  sublime  language,  nobles  by  the  right  of  an  earlier  creation, 
and  priests  by  the  imposition  of  a  mightier  hand." 

Advantages  and  Disadvantages.  —  The  balanced  structure  is 
easy  to  interpret  and  remember,  inasmuch  as  the  similarly  con- 
structed clauses  lend  emphasis  to  each  other,  and  make  it  easy  to 
fix  the  points  that  are  of  most  importance.  Besides,  such  a  care- 
fully built  sentence,  with  its  parts  so  ingeniously  conformed  to  each 
other,  is  a  pleasure  in  itself. 

It  is  in  the  use  of  the  balanced  structure,  however,  that  caution 
against  excess  is  most  necessary.  Being  the  most  artificial  type  of 
sentence,  it  should  be  used  sparingly,  and  only  where  it  is  needed 


192  THE   SENTENCE. 

to  give  a  particularly  striking  expression  to  an  important  thought. 
While  it  is  prominent,  and  thus  apt,  when  often  employed,  to 
fatigue  the  ear,  it  is  also  very  enslaving  to  those  who  employ  it 
unadvisedly.  From  the  irresistible  craving  for  the  familiar  meas- 
ure, there  is  a  temptation  not  only  to  balance  every  thought,  but  to 
add  tautological  and  otherwise  questionable  forms  in  order  to  fill 
out  the  sense. 

NOTE.  —  The  inherent  peril  of  the  balanced  structure  is  due  to  the  fact  that 
when  once  the  writer  is  enamored  with  it,  neither  he  nor  his  reader  can  surely 
tell  how  much  of  the  statement  is  fact  and  how  much  rhetoric.  Take,  for  ex- 
ample, the  following  sentence  from  Macaulay:  "The  work  which  had  been  be- 
gun by  Henry,  the  murderer  of  his  wives,  was  continued  by  Somerset,  the 
murderer  of  his  brother,  and  completed  by  Elizabeth,  the  murderer  of  her 
guest."  Can  we  trust  ourselves  to  this  finely-turned  sentence,  without  the  im- 
pulse to  allow  something  for  the  curious  balance  of  ideas? 

Balanced  structure,  antithesis  (see  preceding,  page  102),  and  alliteration, 
are  three  devices  of  expression  that  may  easily  become  a  snare  to  the  writer. 
The  fanciful  and  artificial  manner  of  writing  called  Euphuism,  which  had  a 
great  run  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  time,  was  a  style  in  which  these  three  devices 
ran  riot.  The  following  few  sentences  will  give  a  little  taste  of  the  style  of 
Euphues :  "  Therefore,  my  good  Euphues,  for  these  doubts  and  dumps  of  mine, 
either  remove  the  cause  or  reveal  it.  Thou  hast  hitherto  found  me  a  cheer- 
ful companion  in  thy  mirth,  and  now  shalt  thou  find  me  as  careful  with  thee 
in  thy  moan.  If  altogether  thou  mayest  not  be  cured,  yet  mayest  thou  be 
comforted.  If  there  be  anything  that  either  by  thy  friends  may  be  procured, 
or  by  my  life  attained,  that  may  either  heal  thee  in  part,  or  help  thee  in  all, 
I  protest  to  thee  by  the  name  of  a  friend,  that  it  shall  rather  be  gotten  with  the 
loss  of  my  body,  than  lost  by  getting  a  kingdom.  Thou  hast  tried  me,  there- 
fore trust  me  ;  thou  hast  trusted  me  in  many  things,  therefore  try  me  in  this 
one  thing.  I  never  yet  failed,  and  now  I  will  not  faint.  Be  bold  to  speak  and 
blush  not ;  thy  sore  is  not  so  angry  but  I  can  salve  it,  the  wound  not  so  deep 
but  I  can  search  it,  thy  grief  not  so  great  but  I  can  ease  it.  If  it  be  ripe,  it 
shall  be  lanced  ;  if  it  be  broken,  it  shall  be  tainted  ;  be  it  never  so  desperate, 
it  shall  be  cured."  And  so  on,  interminably.  A  good  example  of  the  artifi- 
ciality that  is  inevitable  when  the  writer  thinks  of  form  before  thought. 


TJfE  PARAGRAPH.  193 

SECTION   THIRD. 

THE   PARAGRAPH. 

Definition. — A  paragraph  is  a  connected  series  of  sentences 
constituting  the  development  of  a  single  topic. 

NOTE. —  Mechanically,  a  paragraph  is  distinguished,  both  in  print  and  manu- 
script, by  beginning  on  a  new  line,  and  by  indenting,  that  is,  withdrawing 
toward  the  middle  of  the  line,  the  opening  word. 

In  narrating  conversation  between  different  persons,  the  form  of  a  new 
paragraph  is  given  to  what  each  interlocutor  says  or  does,  irrespective  of  the 
amount  or  nature  of  the  matter  included. 

The  amount  and  comprehensiveness  of  the  material  included  in 
a  paragraph  varies  greatly,  according  to  the  length  and  character 
of  the  discourse,  the  office  of  the  paragraph,  and  the  writer's  indi- 
vidual taste.  Of  a  short  production  a  paragraph  may  make  up  a 
large  enough  proportion  to  be  a  main  division  of  the  plan  ;  oftener, 
however,  it  contains  a  much  smaller  section  of  the  thought.  And 
a  paragraph  that  merely  makes  a  transition,  or  proposes  a  single 
idea  as  basis  for  further  development,  would  be  much  shorter  than 
a  paragraph  of  detail.  What  is  of  more  importance  than  the  length, 
however,  —  every  paragraph  should  have  a  definitive  topic  and 
structure,  and  not  be  left,  as  is  too  often  done  by  writers  otherwise 
good,  to  make  itself. 

In  determining  the  length  of  the  paragraph,  not  only  the  topic 
included,  but  the  ease  of  interpretation  and  the  appearance  of  the 
page  should  be  consulted.  Every  reader  can  recall  how  often  he 
has  been  repelled  from  a  book  by  the  mere  fact  that  whole  solid 
pages  occurred  without  paragraph  breaks  ;  and  how  often  he  has 
been  attracted  by  an  open  and  easy-looking  page.  This  is  no  mere 
whim.  Extended  paragraph  topics  are  a  needless  burden  to  the 
reader's  mind  and  memory ;  and  it  is  the  feeling  that  too  much 
is  demanded  of  his  interpreting  powers  that  causes  his  dislike  of  a 
solid  page.  As  a  rule,  paragraphs  of  over  a  page  in  length  should 
be  avoided. 


194  THE  PARAGRAPH. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  the  French  fashion  of  making  separate 
paragraphs  of  almost  every  sentence  is  yet  more  objectionable. 
The  natural  division  of  the  subject  is  the  proper  guide."  * 

I.  QUALITIES  AND   STRUCTURE  OF  THE  PARAGRAPH. 

The  general  laws,  of  selection,  arrangement,  and  proportion, 
which  govern  the  construction  of  the  paragraph,  are  so  similar  to 
those  governing  the  composition  of  an  entire  discourse,  that,  as  we 
call  the  sentence  the  unit  of  style,  so  we  may  regard  the  paragraph 
as  the  unit  of  invention.  And  certain  it  is  that  care  about  the 
structure  of  the  paragraph  is  one  of  the  best  of  influences  to  induce 
care  and  skill  in  building  the  entire  plan. 

The  laws  of  paragraph  structure,  as  well  as  the  essential  quali- 
ties of  the  paragraph,  are  implied  in  the  definition  given  above. 
A  paragraph,  it  is  there  said,  constitutes  the  development  of  a 
single  topic :  hence,  a  fundamental  quality  is  unity.  This  devel- 
opment is  made  by  a  connected  series  of  sentences :  hence,  an- 
other requisite  is  continuity  in  the  thought.  And  the  fact  that  it  is 
the  orderly  development  of  a  topic  implies  systematic  progress  : 
hence  a  third  requisite  is  proportion  between  the  parts. 

I. 

Unity.  —  The  Paragraph-Subject.  —  A  paragraph  is  a  distinct 
division  of  the  discourse,  related  indeed  to  preceding  and  following, 
as  a  link  in  a  larger  chain,  but  complete  in  itself,  and  exhaustive  of 
its  topic.  Its  primary  requisite,  therefore,  is  unity ;  and  this  unity 
is  subserved  by  choosing  for  each  paragraph  a  determinate  subject, 
to  which  all  parts  of  the  structure  are  related  as  constituting  ele- 
ments in  its  development. 

Prominence  of  the  Subject.  —  How  prominent  the  paragraph- 
subject  is  to  be  made  depends  upon  the  character  and  office  of 
the  paragraph  itself.  When  the  paragraph  is  argumentative  or 
expository,  or  when  it  embodies  the  treatment  of  some  central 

1  Bigclow,  "  Handbook  of  Punctuation,"  p.  38. 


THE  PARAGRAPH.  195 

thought,  that  thought  appears  in  some  part  as  a  definite  affirma- 
tion, and  all  the  other  statements  are  recognized  as  ancillary  to 
this.  When  the  paragraph  is  descriptive  or  narrative,  or  when  it  is 
merely  an  accumulation  of  details  of  any  kind,  the  subject  cannot 
so  easily  be  reduced  to  a  proposition,  but  must  be  gathered  from 
the  general  bearing  of  the  whole.  In  any  case,  however,  the  sub- 
ject, if  not  expressly  stated,  should  be  clearly  determined  in  the 
writer's  mind,  and  so  definitely  implied  that  the  reader  can  feel  the 
effect  of  the  paragraph  in  a  single  utterance.  It  should  have  unity 
of  impression  ;  and  a  good  test  of  this  is,  its  being  so  constructed 
that  an  abstract  of  it  can  be  made  in  one  phrase  or  sentence. 

This  matter  is  dwelt  upon  here,  because  perhaps  the  most  preva- 
lent fault  of  young  writers  is,  leaving  the  topics  of  paragraphs  inde- 
terminate or  too  diffusive.  The  production  accordingly  is  lacking 
in  character ;  it  seems  to  have  no  backbone,  no  rigor  and  sharp- 
ness of  thought.  The  conforming  of  each  paragraph  sternly  to  a 
distinct  topic  goes  farther  than  anything  else  to  obviate  this,  one 
of  the  worst  blemishes  of  composition. 

ILLUSTRATIONS.  —  Two  examples  will  suffice  to  show  how  the  material  of  a 
paragraph  exercises  influence  on  the  expression  of  its  subject. 

1.  An  argumentative  paragraph,  with  subject  stated  in  a  definite  assertion. 
The  subject  is  proposed  in  the  first  sentence  and  repeated  in  the  second. 

"  It  is  a  twice-told  tale  that  the  world  is  passing  away  from  us.  God  has 
written  it  upon  every  page  of  his  creation  that  there  is  nothing  here  which 
lasts.  Our  affections  change.  The  friendships  of  the  man  are  not  the  friend- 
ships of  the  boy.  The  face  of  the  visible  world  is  altering  around  us :  we  have 
the  grey  mouldering  ruins  to  tell  of  what  once  was.  Our  laborers  strike  their 
ploughshares  against  the  foundations  of  buildings  which  once  echoed  to  human 
mirth  —  skeletons  of  men  to  whom  life  was  once  dear  —  urns  and  coins  that 
remind  the  antiquarian  of  a  magnificent  empire.  This  is  the  history  of  the 
world,  and  all  that  is  in  it.  It  passes  while  we  look  at  it.  Like  as  when  you 
watch  the  melting  tints  of  the  evening  sky  —  purple-crimson,  gorgeous  gold,  a 
few  pulsations  of  quivering  light,  and  it  is  all  gone.  We  are  such  stuff  as 
dreams  are  made  of." — ROBERTSON. 

2.  A  narrative  paragraph,  with  subject  implied  as  resultant  of  the  whole. 
The  subject,  which  is  no  less  definite  than  the  preceding,  is  "  Hester  Prynne  on 
her  way  to  the  Pillory." 


196  THE  PARAGRAPH. 

"  A  lane  was  forthwith  opened  through  the  crowd  of  spectators.  Preceded 
by  the  beadle,  and  attended  by  an  irregular  procession  of  stern-browed  men  and 
unkindly  visaged  women,  Hester  Prynne  set  forth  towards  the  place  appointed 
for  her  punishment.  A  crowd  of  eager  and  curious  school-boys,  understanding 
little  of  the  matter  in  hand,  except  that  it  gave  them  a  half-holiday,  ran  before 
her  progress,  turning  their  heads  continually  to  stare  into  her  face,  and  at  the 
winking  baby  in  her  arms,  and  at  the  ignominious  letter  on  her  breast.  It  was 
no  great  distance,  in  those  days,  from  the  prison-door  to  the  market-place. 
Measured  by  the  prisoner's  experience,  however,  it  might  be  reckoned  a  jour- 
ney of  some  length;  for,  haughty  as  her  demeanor  was,  she  perchance  under- 
went an  agony  from  every  footstep  of  those  that  thronged  to  see  her,  as  if  her 
heart  had  been  flung  into  the  street  for  them  all  to  spurn  and  trample  upon. 
In  our  nature,  however,  there  is  a  provision,  alike  marvellous  and  merciful, 
that  the  sufferer  should  never  know  the  intensity  of  what  he  endures  by  its 
present  torture,  but  chiefly  by  the  pang  that  rankles  after  it.  With  almost  a 
serene  deportment,  therefore,  Hester  Prynne  passed  through  this  portion  of  her 
ordeal,  and  came  to  a  sort  of  scaffold,  at  the  western  extremity  of  the  market- 
place. It  stood  nearly  beneath  the  eaves  of  Boston's  earliest  church,  and 
appeared  to  be  a  fixture  there."  —  HAWTHORNE. 

Here  the  circumstances  of  time,  place,  and  event,  give  unity  to  the  topic, 
and  there  is  no  distraction  of  effect. 

Place  of  the  Subject.  — The  subject  of  a  paragraph  is  often  in- 
dicated in  the  opening  sentence ;  sometimes  preceded,  however, 
by  a  few  words,  obviously  connective  and  preparatory.  As  the 
paragraph  is  not  only  a  structure  in  itself  but  a  component  part  of 
a  larger  unity,  such  preparation  for  the  subject-sentence  must  not 
infrequently  be  made,  by  making  a  transition,  or  by  summarizing 
what  is  previously  given. 

In  some  exceptional  cases  the  subject,  instead  of  being  stated 
at  the  beginning,  is  delayed  until  the  close,  somewhat  after  the 
analogy  of  the  periodic  structure  in  sentences.  In  such  cases  the 
body  of  the  paragraph  furnishes  material  fpr  the  subject,  giving 
particulars  before  announcing  the  general  truth  deduced  from 
them,  or  arguments  before  stating  the  proposition  they  prove.  For 
statements  that  are  not  likely  to  be  believed  or  understood  unless 
they  are  led  up  to  gradually  and  with  every  step  made  sure  by 
reasons,  this  is  a  very  effective  type  of  structure. 

Important  subjects  are  often  repeated  in  another  form,  more 


THE  PARAGRAPH.  197 

particular,  or  more  sententious,  or  in  figurative  language.  Not 
infrequently,  also,  a  subject  is  both  stated  at  the  beginning  and 
repeated  at  the  end  of  the  paragraph. 

EXAMPLES  OF  EACH  KIND.  —  In  the  following  examples  the  subject-sen- 
tence is  indicated  by  italics. 

I.    Subject  in  opening  sentence. 

"  I  say  then,  if  we  would  improve  the  intellect,  first  of  all,  we  must  ascend ; 
we  cannot  gain  real  knowledge  on  a  level ;  we  must  generalize,  we  must  re- 
duce to  method,  we  must  have  a  grasp  of  principles,  and  group  and  shape  our 
acquisitions  by  means  of  them.  It  matters  not  whether  our  field  of  operation 
be  wide  or  limited  ;  in  every  case,  to  command  it,  is  to  mount  above  it.  Who 
has  not  felt  the  irritation  of  mind  and  impatience  created  by  a  deep,  rich  coun- 
try, visited  for  the  first  time,  with  winding  lanes,  and  high  hedges,  and  green 
steeps,  and  tangled  woods,  and  everything  smiling  indeed,  but  in  a  maze? 
The  same  feeling  comes  upon  us  in  a  strange  city,  when  we  have  no  map  of 
its  streets.  Hence  you  hear  of  practised  travellers,  when  they  first  come  into 
a  place,  mounting  some  high  hill  or  church  tower,  by  way  of  reconnoitring 
its  neighborhood.  In  like  manner,  you  must  be  above  your  knowledge,  not 
under  it,  or  it  will  oppress  you  ;  and  the  more  you  have  of  it,  the  greater  will 
be  the  load.  The  learning  of  a  Salmasius  or  a  Burman,  unless  you  are  its 
master,  will  be  your  tyrant.  'Imperat  aut  servit';  if  you  can  wield  it  with 
a  strong  arm,  it  is  a  great  weapon  ;  otherwise,  you  will  be  overwhelmed,  like 
Tarpeia,  by  the  heavy  wealth  which  you  have  exacted  from  tributary  genera- 
tions."—  CARDINAL  NEWMAN. 

2.  Subject  only  hinted  at  in  the  beginning  and  first  definitely  expressed  at 
the  end.  The  subject  is  the  popularity  of  Cromwell's  character. 

"  But  though  his  memory  has  not  been  taken  under  the  patronage  of  any 
party,  though  every  device  has  been  used  to  blacken  it,  though  to  praise  him 
would  long  have  been  a  punishable  crime,  truth  and  merit  at  last  prevail. 
Cowards  who  had  trembled  at  the  very  sound  of  his  name,  tools  of  office  who, 
like  Downing,  had  been  proud  of  the  honor  of  lackeying  his  coach,  might  in- 
sult him  in  loyal  speeches  and  addresses.  Venal  poets  might  transfer  to  the 
King  the  same  eulogies,  little  the  worse  for  wear,  which  they  had  bestowed 
on  the  Protector.  A  fickle  multitude  might  crowd  to  shout  and  scoff  round 
the  gibbeted  remains  of  the  greatest  prince  and  soldier  of  the  age.  But  when 
the  Dutch  cannon  startled  an  effeminate  tyrant  in  his  own  palace,  when  the 
conquests  which  had  been  won  by  the  armies  of  Cromwell  were  sold  to  pam- 
per the  harlots  of  Charles,  when  Englishmen  were  sent  to  fight  under  foreign 
banners  against  the  independence  of  Europe  and  the  Protestant  religion,  many 
honest  hearts  swelled  in  secret  at  the  thought  of  one  who  had  never  suffered 


198  THE  PARAGRAPH. 

liis  country  to  be  ill-used  by  any  but  himself.  It  must  indeed  have  been  diffi- 
cult for  any  Englishman  to  see  the  salaried  Viceroy  of  France,  at  the  most 
important  crisis  of  his  fate,  sauntering  through  his  harem,  yawning  and  talk- 
ing nonsense  over  a  dispatch,  or  beslobbering  his  brother  and  his  courtiers  in 
a  fit  of  maudlin  affection,  without  a  respectful  and  tender  remembrance  of 
him  before  whose  genius  the  young  pride  of  Lewis  and  the  veteran  craft  of 
Mazarin  had  stood  rebuked,  who  had  humbled  Spain  on  the  land  and  Holland 
on  the  sea,  and  whose  imperial  voice  had  arrested  the  sails  of  the  Lybian 
pirates  and  the  persecuting  fires  of  Rome.  Even  to  the  present  day  his  char- 
acter, though  constantly  attacked,  and  scarcely  ever  defended,  is  popular  with 
the  great  body  of  our  countrymen."  —  MACAULAY. 

3.  Subject  stated  at  the  beginning,  then,  after  amplification  and  illustration, 
repeated  in  another  form  at  the  end. 

"  A  man  of  polite  imagination  is  let  into  a  great  many  pleasures  that  the 
vulgar  are  not  capable  of  receiving.  He  can  converse  with  a  picture,  and 
find  an  agreeable  companion  in  a  statue.  He  meets  with  a  secret  refreshment 
in  a  description,  and  often  feels  a  greater  satisfaction  in  the  prospect  of  fields 
and  meadows  than  another  does  in  the  possession  of  them.  It  gives  him  a 
kind  of  property  in  everything  he  sees,  and  makes  the  most  rude  uncultivated 
parts  of  nature  administer  to  his  pleasures.  So  that  he  looks  on  the  -world  in 
another  light,  and  discovers  in  it  a  multitude  of  charms  that  conceal  themselves 
from  the  generality  of  mankind."  —  ADDISON. 


II. 

Continuity. — The  Plan.  —  Continuity  requires  that  the  sen- 
tences making  up  the  paragraph  should  be  so  related  to  one 
another,  in  thought  and  structure,  that  they  may  be  naturally  rec- 
ognized as  consecutive  steps  in  a  progressing  thought.  The  para- 
graph has  therefore  a  plan,  in  which  every  pertinent  statement  has 
a  determinate  place. 

What  the  Plan  requires. — By  plan  is  not  necessarily  meant 
that  the  paragraph  should  be  susceptible  of  arrangement  in 
skeleton-form,  with  numbered  headings ;  though  some  paragraphs 
are  as  systematic  as  this.  But  all  paragraphs  should  manifest  a 
logical  progress  of  thought,  developing  the  suggestions  of  the  sub- 
ject, from  point  to  point,  and  without  dislocations.  Further,  the 
bearing  of  one  thought  on  another  should  be  clearly  indicated 


THE  PARAGRAPH.  199 

throughout ;  and  the  topic  should  be  brought  to  a  complete  and 
properly  rounded  conclusion. 

The  principle  on  which  the  plan  of  a  paragraph  is  constructed 
may  be  regarded  as  an  extension  of  the  principle  of  sentence-struc- 
ture, as  laid  down  on  pages  177-179.  The  same  relations  exist 
between  sentences  in  the  paragraph  as  between  clauses  in  the  sen- 
tence ;  only  the  paragraph  may  contain  more  of  them,  and  they 
may  be  followed  to  more  minute  and  complicated  applications. 
Generally  speaking,  then,  any  consideration,  to  be  worthy  of  a 
place  in  the  plan,  should  contribute  directly  to  explain,  or  repeat, 
or  illustrate,  or  prove,  or  apply  the  subject. 

Nor  should  these  functions  be  unadvisedly  mixed;  but  each 
manner  of  developing  the  subject  should  occupy  its  own  place  and 
proportion.  The  paragraph,  embodying  as  it  does  typically  the 
logical  growth  of  its  topic,  seeks  the  order  most  natural  to  each 
stage  of  its  development.  It  may  be  of  assistance  to  the  student, 
therefore,  to  present  the  following  scheme  of  a  typical  paragraph 
structure  :  — 

The  subject  proposed. 
I.  Whatever  is  needed  to  explain  the  subject. 

Repetition. 

Obverse. 

Definition. 

II.  Whatever  is  needed  to  establish  the  subject. 
Exemplification  or  detail. 
Illustration. 
Proof. 

III.  Whatever  is  needed  to  apply  the  subject. 
Result  or  consequence. 
Enforcement. 
Summary  or  recapitulation. 

Of  course  this  scheme  is  too  extensive  for  any  particular  para- 
graph ;  it  merely  represents  the  natural  place  for  each  manner  of 
treatment  adopted.  Some  parts  may  be  condensed  or  altogether 


200  THE  PARAGRAPH. 

elided,  others  expanded  so  as  to  make  up  a  prominent,  even  pre- 
dominating, proportion  of  the  paragraph. 

Modifications  of  the  above  scheme  are  due  to  the  various  kinds 
of  material,  to  the  object  of  the  paragraph,  and  to  the  comprehen- 
siveness of  the  topic.  Thus,  a  descriptive  or  narrative  subject 
ordinarily  needs  no  explanation,  and  centres  in  such  material  as 
gives  details  or  illustration ;  while  an  expository  subject  centres  in 
explanation,  and  an  argumentative  subject  in  exemplification  and 
proof.  Again,  the  object  of  a  paragraph  may  be  nothing  else  than 
to  apply  its  subject,  and  accordingly  the  previous  steps  may  be 
passed  over.  Still  further,  the  subject  proposed  in  a  paragraph 
may  sometimes  be  so  comprehensive  as  to  require  more  than  one 
paragraph  for  its  treatment ;  so  the  first  paragraph  can  only  lay  out 
and  begin  the  subject.  All  such  modifications,  however,  are  easily 
referred  to  the  type  ;  and  it  is  of  advantage  to  keep  well  in  mind 
the  proper  function  of  every  part. 

NOTE.  —  The  examples  here  given  and  analyzed  are  meant  merely  to  show 
that  paragraphs  really  have  a  carefully  ordered  plan,  and  to  show  how  the 
plan  may  appear  under  different  conditions.  More  than  this  cannot  well  be 
attempted  here  ;  nor  can  these  few  examples  profess  to  go  minutely  into  such 
an  intricate  subject.  Where  necessary  for  convenience  of  reference,  the  sen- 
tences are  numbered. 

I.  The  first  example  illustrates  what  may  be  regarded  as  the  simplest  type 
of  paragraph.  As  the  subject  needs  no  explanation,  nor  enforcement,  the 
paragraph  is  merely  occupied  with  giving  details  and  illustration. 

Subject:  THE  PARTS  AND  SIGNS  OF  GOODNESS. 

"The  parts  and  signs  of  goodness  are  many.  If  a  man  be  gracious  and 
courteous  to  strangers,  it  shows  he  is  a  citizen  of  the  world,  and  that  his  heart 
is  no  island  cut  off  from  other  lands,  but  a  continent  that  joins  to  them.  If  he 
be  compassionate  towards  the  afflictions  of  others,  it  shows  that  his  heart  is 
like  the  noble  tree,  that  is  wounded  itself  when  it  gives  the  balm.  If  he  easily 
pardons  and  remits  offences,  it  shows  that  his  mind  is  planted  above  injuries, 
so  that  he  cannot  be  shot.  If  he  be  thankful  for  small  benefits,  it  shows  that  he 
weighs  men's  minds,  and  not  their  trash.  But,  above  all,  if  he  have  St.  Paul's 
perfection,  that  he  could  wish  to  be  an  anathema  from  Christ,  for  the  salvation 
of  his  brethren,  it  shows  much  of  a  divine  nature,  and  a  kind  of  conformity 
with  Christ  himself."  —  BACON. 


THE   PARAGRAPH.  201 

The  plan  of  the  above  may  be  thus  represented:  — 
The  subject  proposed  —  signs  of  goodness. 

1.  Courtesy,  and  what  it  indicates. 

2.  Compassion,       "      "         " 

3.  Magnanimity,     "      "         " 

4.  Gratitude,  "      "         " 

5.  Self-sacrifice,      "     "         " 

The  arrangement  of  these  qualities  is  made  with  care,  according  to  an  ascend- 
ing scale  of  excellence. 

2.  The  second  example  follows  out  a  regular  plan,  as  laid  down  in  its  de- 
finitive part. 

Subject:  THE  GRAND  STYLE  IN  POETRY. 

"  Let  us  try,  however,  what  can  be  said,  controlling  what  we  say  by  exam- 
ples, (i)  I  think  it  will  be  found  that  the  grand  style  arises  in  poetry,  when  a 
noble  nature,  poetically  gifted,  treats  with  simplicity  or  with  severity  a  serious 
subject.  (2)  I  think  this  definition  will  be  found  to  cover  all  instances  of  the 
grand  style  in  poetry  which  present  themselves.  I  think  it  will  be  found  to 
exclude  all  poetry  which  is  not  in  the  grand  style.  And  I  think  it  contains 
no  terms  which  are  obscure,  which  themselves  need  defining.  (3  a)  Even 
those  who  do  not  understand  what  is  meant  by  calling  poetry  noble,  will  under- 
stand, I  imagine,  what  is  meant  by  speaking  of  a  noble  nature  in  a  man.  But 
the  noble  or  powerful  nature  —  the  bedeutendes  individuum  of  Goethe  —  is 
not  enough.  For  instance,  Mr.  Newman  has  zeal  for  learning,  zeal  for  think- 
ing, zeal  for  liberty,  and  all  these  things  are  noble,  they  ennoble  a  man  ; 
(b)  but  he  has  not  the  poetical  gift:  there  must  be  the  poetical  gift,  the 
'  divine  faculty,'  also.  (c~)  And,  besides  all  this,  the  subject  must  be  a  serious 
one  (for  it  is  only  by  a  kind  of  license  that  we  can  speak  of  the  grand  style 
in  comedy) ;  and  it  must  be  treated  with  simplicity  or  severity.  (4)  Here  is 
the  great  difficulty :  the  poets  of  the  world  have  been  many  ;  there  has  been 
wanting  neither  abundance  of  poetical  gift  nor  abundance  of  noble  natures  ; 
but  a  poetical  gift  so  happy,  in  a  noble  nature  so  circumstanced  and  trained, 
that  the  result  is  a  continuous  style,  perfect  in  simplicity  or  perfect  in  severity, 
has  been  extremely  rare.  One  poet  has  had  the  gift  of  nature  and  faculty  in 
unequalled  fulness,  without  the  circumstances  and  training  which  make  this 
sustained  perfection  of  style  possible.  Of  other  poets,  some  have  caught  this 
perfect  strain  now  and  then,  in  short  pieces  or  single  lines,  but  have  not  been 
able  to  maintain  it  through  considerable  works;  others  have  composed  all 
their  productions  in  a  style  which,  by  comparison  with  the  best,  one  must  call 
secondary."  —  MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 


202  THE   PARAGRAPH. 

Plan  of  the  above. 

The  subject  brought  over  from  preceding  paragraph. 

1.  Definition  of  the  grand  style. 

2.  Adequacy  of  the  definition. 

3.  The  definition  analyzed. 

a.  A  noble  nature. 

b.  Poetically  gifted. 

c.  Treating  a  serious  subject  with  simplicity  or  severity. 

4.  Difficulty  and  rarity  of  this  last  endowment. 

3.  The  third  example  occupies  itself  with  giving  a  particular  effect  or  appli- 
cation of  the  subject. 

Subject:  ESTRANGEMENT  OF  FREDERICK  THE  GREAT  AND  VOLTAIRE. 

"And  so  there  was  an  end,  if  not  of  correspondence,  yet  of  that  friendship, 
which  after  all  had  always  belonged  rather  to  the  spoken  order  than  to  the 
deep  unspeakable.  There  was  now  cynical,  hoarse-voiced  contempt  on  the 
one  side,  and  fierce,  reverberating,  shrill  fury  on  the  other.  The  spectacle  and 
the  sound  are  distressing  to  those  who  crave  dignity  and  admission  of  the 
serious  in  the  relations  of  men  with  one  another,  as  well  as  some  sense  of  the 
myriad  indefinable  relations  which  encompass  us  unawares,  giving  color  and 
perspective  to  our  more  definable  bonds.  One  would  rather  that  even  in  their 
estrangement  there  had  been  some  grace  and  firmness  and  self-control,  and 
that  at  least  the  long-cherished  illusion  had  faded  away  worthily,  as  when  one 
bids  farewell  to  a  friend  whom  a  perverse  will  carries  from  us  over  unknown 
seas  until  a  far  day,  and  we  know  not  if  we  shall  see  his  face  any  more.  It  jars 
on  us  that  the  moon  which  has  climbed  into  the  night  and  moved  like  sound  of 
music  over  heath  and  woodland,  should  finally  set  in  a  grey  swamp  amid  the 
harsh  croaking  of  amphibians.  But  the  intimacy  between  Frederick  and  Vol- 
taire had  perhaps  been  always  most  like  the  theatre  moon."  —  JOHN  MORLEV. 

Anfc'ysis  of  the  above  by  sentences. 

1.  Subject  proposed:  "And  so  there  was  an  end  of  tha*  friendship." 

2.  What  followed. 

3.  How  the  spectacle  affects  the  contemplator. 

4.  Contrasted  with  what  he  would  rather  have  seen. 

5.  Effect  illustrated  by  figure. 

6.  Figure  varied  to  suit  actual  case. 

Here  the  paragraph  centres  in  the  applicator)-  part,  which  is  constructed  sys- 
tematically, by  statement,  contrast,  and  illustration. 

Explicit  Reference.  —  To  preserve  continuity  in  the  paragraph, 
the  exact  relation  of  the  constituent  sentences  to  one  another,  as 


THE  PARAGRAPH.  203 

also  the  relation  between  the  paragraphs  themselves,  must  be  dis- 
tinctly indicated.  This  is  perhaps  the  most  important  requisite  of 
the  paragraph.  Says  De  Quincey :  "  It  is  in  the  relation  of  sen- 
tences, in  what  Horace  terms  their  'junctura,'  that  the  true  life  of 
composition  resides.  The  mode  of  their  nexus,  —  the  way  in 
which  one  sentence  is  made  to  arise  out  of  another,  and  to  prepare 
the  opening  for  a  third,  —  this  is  the  great  loom  in  which  the 
textile  process  of  the  moving  intellect  reveals  itself  and  prospers." 

The  following  are  the  principal  means  by  which  explicit  refer- 
ence is  made  from  sentence  to  sentence. 

i.  By  conjunctions  and  conjunctional  phrases.  These  are  relied 
upon  chiefly  for  changing  the  direction  of  the  thought,  or  some- 
times for  keeping  it  on  in  the  same  direction  when  a  change  would 
naturally  be  expected. 

NOTE. — The  leading  kinds  of  conjunctional  relation  —  coordinating,  subor- 
dinating, adversative,  illative  —  have  already  been  described  and  exemplified ; 
see  preceding,  pages  138—143.  These  relations  may  be  expressed  in  all  shades; 
and  besides  the  regular  conjunctions,  there  is  a  great  variety  of  connective 
phrases. 

The  following  passage,  from  Cardinal  Newman,  will  illustrate  this  means  of 
explicit  reference.  It  is  unusually  full  of  connectives,  because  the  thought 
has  to  be  carried  on  for  some  distance  in  one  direction,  and  that  obverse  to 
what  we  are  expecting. 

"  It  must  not  be  supposed  that,  because  I  so  speak,  therefore  I  have  some 
sort  of  fear  of  the  education  of  the  people :  on  the  contrary,  the  more  educa- 
tion they  have,  the  better,  so  that  it  is  really  education.  Nor  am  I  an  enemy 
to  the  cheap  publication  of  scientific  and  literary  works,  which  is  now  in  vogue : 
on  the  contrary,  I  consider  it  a  great  advantage,  convenience,  and  gain  ;  that 
is,  to  those  to  whom  education  has  given  a  capacity  for  using  them.  Further, 
I  consider  such  innocent  recreations  as  science  and  literature  are  able  to  fur- 
nish will  be  a  very  fit  occupation  of  the  thoughts  and  the  leisure  of  young  per- 
sons, and  may  be  made  the  means  of  keeping  them  from  bad  employments 
and  bad  companions.  Moreover,  as  to  that  superficial  acquaintance  with 
chemistry,  and  geology,  and  astronomy,  and  political  economy,  and  modern 
history,  and  biography,  and  other  branches  of  knowledge,  which  periodical 
literature  and  occasional  lectures  and  scientific  institutions  diffuse  through  the 
community,  I  think  it  a  graceful  accomplishment,  and  a  suitable,  nay,  in  this 
day  a  necessary  accomplishment,  in  the  case  of  educated  men.  Nor,  lastly,  am 


2(H  THE  PARAGRAPH. 

I  disparaging  or  discouraging  the  thorough  acquisition  of  any  one  of  these 
studies,  or  denying  that,  as  far  as  it  goes,  such  thorough  acquisition  is  a  real 
education  of  the  mind.  All  I  say  is,  call  things  by  their  right  names,  and  do 
not  confuse  together  ideas  which  are  essentially  different.  A  thorough  knowl- 
edge of  one  science  and  a  superficial  acquaintance  with  many,  are  not  the 
same  thing  ;  a  smattering  of  a  hundred  things  or  a  memory  for  detail,  is  not  a 
philosophical  or  comprehensive  view.  Recreations  are  not  education;  accom- 
plishments are  not  education."  And  so  on.  From  this  point  to  the  end  of 
the  paragraph,  as  the  thought  lies  all  in  the  same  direction,  no  connectives  are 
used. 

It  is  a  frequent  error  in  young  writers  to  change  the  direction  of  their 
thought  too  often,  and  thus  burden  their  style  with  connectives.  The  following 
is  a  parody  and  of  course  an  exaggeration  of  this  tendency  to  shift  thought. 

" '  Hard  at  it,  Joshua ! '  he  said. 

'Yes,  yes!'  said  Joshua,  looking  up  through  his  steel-bosved  spectacles. 
'  Hev  to  work  hard  to  make  a  livin'  —  though  I  don't  know's  I  ought  to  call 
it  hard  neither  ;  and  yet  it  is  rather  hard,  too  ;  but  then,  on  t'other  hand,  'taint 
so  hard  as  a  good  many  other  things  —  though  there's  a  good  many  jobs  that's 
easier.  That's  so !  That's  so ! 

"  Must  we  be  kerried  to  the  skies 
On  feathery  beds  of  ease  ?  " 

Though  I  don'  know's  I  oughter  quote  a  hymn  on  such  a  matter;  but  then  — 
I  don'  know's  there's  any  partic'lar  harm  iri't,  neither.'  " 

2.  By  demonstrative  words  and  phrases,  and  by  repetition,  either 
literally  or  in  summary,  of  the  part  of  the  previous  idea  that  is  to 
be  utilized  in  the  reference. 

NOTE.  —  Of  demonstrative  words,  the  personal  and  demonstrative  pronouns 
are  most  relied  on.  The  relative  was  formerly  so  used  ;  for  example :  "  But 
he  who  was  of  the  bond  woman  was  born  after  the  flesh  ;  but  he  of  the  free 
woman  was  by  promise.  Which  things  are  an  allegory :  for  these  are  the  two 
covenants;  the  one  from  the  mount  Sinai,  which  gendereth  to  bondage,  which 
is  Agar."  Nowadays,  however,  the  relative  is  used  only  inside  the  sentence. 

Demonstrative  phrases  are  for  the  most  part  the  combination  of  a  demon- 
strative pronoun  with  other  words,  so  as  to  denote  some  adverbial  relation  ;  as, 
in  this  case,  under  these  circumstances,  in  this  manner,  after  what  has  been 
said,  and  the  like. 

The  following  paragraph,  from  Carlyle,  will  illustrate  reference  both  by 
demonstratives  and  by  repetition :  — 

"  Friedrich  does  not  neglect  these  points  of  good  manners,  along  with  which 


THE  PARAGRAPH.  205 

Something  of  substantial  may  be  privately  conjoined.  For  example,  if  he  had 
in  secret  his  eye  on  Jiilich  and  Berg,  could  anything  be  fitter  than  to  ascertain 
what  the  French  will  think  of  such  an  enterprise?  What  the  French ;  and 
next  to  them,  what  the  English  —  that  is  to  say,  Hanoverians,  who  meddle  much 
in  affairs  of  the  Reich.  For  these  reasons  and  others  he  likewise,  probably  with 
more  study  than  in  the  Bielfeld  case,  dispatches  Colonel  Camas  to  make  his 
compliment  at  the  French  court,  and  in  an  expert  way  take  soundings  there. 
Camas,  a  fat,  sedate,  military  gentleman  of  advanced  years,  full  of  observation, 
experience,  and  sound  sense  —  '  with  one  arm,  which  he  makes  do  the  work  of 
two,  and  nobody  can  notice  that  the  other  arm  resting  in  his  coat-breast  is  of 
cork,  so  expert  is  he'  —  will  do  in  this  matter  what  is  feasible  ;  probably  not 
much  for  the  present.  He  is  to  call  on  Voltaire  as  he  passes,  who  is  in  Hol- 
land again,  at  the  Hague  for  some  months  back,  and  deliver  him  '  a  little  cask 
of  Hungary  wine,'  which  probably  his  Majesty  had  thought  exquisite;  of -which, 
and  the  other  insignificant  passages  between  them,  we  hear  more  than  enough 
in  the  writing  and  correspondences  of  Voltaire  about  this  time." 

3.  By  modifying  the  structure  of  the  succeeding  sentence  in  obe- 
dience to  the  attraction  exerted  by  a  previous  idea.  This  modifica- 
tion of  structure  has  already  been  described,  under  the  head  of 
Inversion  for  Adjustment ;  see  preceding,  page  166.  Thus  a  series 
of  sentences  may  be  formed,  in  which  words  or  turns  of  thought 
in  each  previous  sentence  may  be  taken  as  the  starting-point  or 
occasion  for  what  follows. 

Skillfully  managed,  this  manner  of  reference  is  very  graceful  and 
effective  ;  the  writer  needs,  however,  to  keep  his  paragraph-subject 
well  in  mind,  as  well  as  the  suggestion  of  the  previous  sentence ; 
otherwise  there  is  danger  of  making  too  great  excursions  from  the 
path  of  the  thought. 

EXAMPLE.  —  In  the  following,  from  De  Quincey,  observe  how  frequently 
the  sentence  is  inverted  through  the  influence,  either  similarity  or  contrast,  of 
a  previous  idea.  Other  means  of  explicit  reference,  also,  are  marked. 

"  All  is  finite  in  the  present ;  and  even  that  finite  is  infinite  in  its  velocity 
of  flight  towards  death.  But  in  God  there  is  nothing  finite  ;  but  in  God  there 
is  nothing  transitory ;  but  in  God  there  can  be  nothing  that  tends  to  death. 
Therefore,  it  follows,  that_/0r  God  there  can  be  no  present.  The  future  is 
the  present  of  God,  and  to  the  future  it  is  that  he  sacrifices  the  human  present. 
Therefore  it  is  that  he  works  by  earthquake.  Therefore  it  is  that  he  works 
by  grief.  O,  deep  is  the  ploughing  of  earthquake !  O,  deep  is  the  ploughing 


206  THE   PARAGRAPH. 

of  grief!  But  oftentimes  less  would  not  suffice  for  the  agriculture  of  God. 
Upon  a  night  of  earthquake  he  builds  a  thousand  years  of  pleasant  habita- 
tions for  man.  Upon  the  sorrow  of  an  infant  he  raises  oftentimes  from  human 
intellects  glorious  vintages  that  could  not  else  have  been.  Less  than  these 
fierce  ploughshares  would  not  have  stirred  the  stubborn  soil.  The  one  is  needed 
for  earth,  our  planet  —  for  earth  itself  as  the  dwelling-place  of  man  ;  but  the 
other  is  needed  yet  oftener  for  God's  mightiest  instrument,  — yes,  is  needed 
for  the  mysterious  children  of  the  earth !  " 

4.  In  a  large  proportion,  perhaps  in  the  majority  of  cases,  how- 
ever, the  foregoing  means  of  explicit  reference  may  be  safely 
omitted.  It  is  an  advantage  when  this  can  be  done,  especially 
when  thereby  connective  words  and  phrases  are  obviated,  because 
connectives  in  general  tend  to  load  and  encumber  the  composi- 
tion. The  tendency  of  modern  literary  style  is  to  dispense  more 
and  more  with  them. 

This  discarding  of  connectives  is  due  not  to  any  tendency  to 
leave  the  structure  of  thought  imperfectly  articulated,  but  to  the 
greater  directness  of  thought  and  expression,  which  makes  the 
road  plain  and  obvious  without  need  of  particles  to  point  it  out. 
For  the  absence  of  connectives  has  a  meaning  and  justification  as 
distinct  as  has  their  presence.  When  the  thought,  having  been 
once  clearly  proposed,  needs  only  to  be  kept  on  in  the  same  direc- 
tion, each  succeeding  statement  is  its  own  guide.  It  is  only  when 
the  direction  is  to  be  changed  that  a  connective  is  needed. 

The  chief  cases  where  connectives  may  be  omitted  are  :  ( i ) 
When  a  sentence  repeats,  or  explains,  or  illustrates,  or  particularizes 
what  goes  before.  The  nature  of  the  reference  is  supposed  to  be 
shown  by  the  context.  (2)  In  the  accumulation  of  details.  "When 
a  number  of  particulars  are  given  in  succession  —  whether  descrip- 
tive, narrative,  or  expository  —  they  are  presumed,  in  the  absence 
of  any  contrary  indication,  to  have  a  common  bearing."1  (3) 
Sometimes  in  cases  where  they  would  more  naturally  be  expressed, 
in  order  to  make  a  more  abrupt  and  forcible  transition.  In 
impassioned  language  this  omission  is  often  an  aid  to  vivacity. 

1  Bain,  "  English  Composition  and  Rhetoric,"  p.  145. 


THE   PARAGRAPH.  207 

EXAMPLE.  —  The  following  will  illustrate  the  absence  of  connectives,  and 
also  stand  as  an  example  of  the  type  of  paragraph-structure  —  namely,  subject 
and  proof —  that  will  best  bear  their  absence. 

"  When  most  disguised  and  repressed  the  wisdom  of  the  gospel  has  been 
modifying  our  philosophy  and  teaching  a  loftier  system  of  its  own.  A  How- 
ard, sounding  and  circumnavigating  the  ocean  of  human  misery,  is  only  an 
obedient  agent  of  its  philanthropy.  A  Clarkson  and  a  Wilberforce  have  only 
given  utterance  to  its  tender  and  righteous  appeals  for  the  slave.  A  Raikes,  a 
Bell,  and  a  Lancaster,  have  simply  remembered  its  long  neglected  injunction, 
'  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me.' " —  HARRIS. 


III. 

Proportion. — The  Relation  of  Parts.  —  On  the  principle  that 
all  statements  should  have  bulk  and  prominence  according  to  their 
importance,  a  due  proportion  needs  to  be  maintained  between 
principal  and  subordinate  ideas  in  the  paragraph.  Every  part 
should  be  so  treated  as  to  show  for  just  what  it  naturally  is,  in  rank, 
and  in  its  relation  to  the  whole. 

Digressions. — When  a  subordinate  or  illustrative  idea  is  ex- 
panded, either  in  volume  or  emphasis,  beyond  its  proportion,  it 
becomes  a  digression,  and  distracts  from  the  effect  of  the  main 
topic. 

Digressions  are  to  the  paragraph  or  discourse  what  parentheses 
are  to  the  sentence.  They  may  sometimes  be  effectually  intro- 
duced, as  when,  for  instance,  it  is  desirable  to  divert  the  reader's 
attention  for  a  time  from  a  strenuous  and  exacting  argument,  or 
from  a  highly- wrought  and  exciting  passage,  for  the  sake  of  recov- 
ering calmness  and  buoyancy  of  mind.  The  boundaries  of  a 
digression  should,  however,  be  carefully  drawn,  and  its  digressive 
character  made  and  kept  obvious. 

NOTE.  —  Of  modern  authors  the  most  digressive  is  De  Quincey  ;  and  noth- 
ing could  justify  his  inveterate  tendency  to  wander  off  from  his  subject,  except 
his  remarkable  care  and  skill  in  explicit  reference,  which  generally  keeps 
him  within  returning  distance  of  his  main  topic  ;  but  even  this  does  not  pre- 
vent his  discursiveness  from  becoming  occasionally  vexatious. 


208  THE   PARAGRAPH. 

Parallel  Construction.  —  We  have  seen  that  it  is  a  help  to  the 
reader's  attention  when  corresponding  clauses  and  phrases  are 
formed,  as  nearly  as  may  be,  on  the  same  plan ;  see  paragraph  79, 
page  164.  The  same  principle  holds  also,  with  a  somewhat 
broader  application,  in  the  structure  of  the  paragraph.  Successive 
sentences  dealing  with  the  same  subject  should  preserve  the  prom- 
inence of  leading  ideas  by  keeping  the  principal  subject  and  the 
principal  predicates,  if  possible,  in  corresponding  places.  In  pur- 
suance of  the  same  principle,  subordinate  or  digressive  ideas  should 
receive  a  different  distribution  of  emphasis,  and  not  usurp  the 
place  where  the  main  ideas  are  naturally  looked  for. 

NOTE.  —  In  the  following  paragraph,  from  De  Quincey,  it  will  be  noticed 
that  the  principal  subject  of  remark  is  kept  well  in  the  forefront  throughout ; 
and  that  in  the  sentences  where  a  new  subject  is  introduced  (marked  here  by 
square  brackets)  the  new  subject  is  kept  consistently  in  a  less  prominent  part 
of  its  sentence.  The  main  subject  is  Our  Lady  of  Tears. 

"  Her  eyes  are  sweet  and  subtile,  wild  and  sleepy,  by  turns  ;  oftentimes  ris- 
ing to  the  clouds,  oftentimes  challenging  the  heavens.  She  wears  a  diadem 
round  her  head.  And  I  knew  by  childish  memories  that  she  could  go  abroad 
upon  the  winds,  when  she  heard  that  sobbing  of  litanies,  or  the  thundering  of 
organs,  and  when  she  beheld  the  mustering  of  summer  clouds.  This  sister, 
the  elder,  it  is  that  carries  keys  more  than  papal  at  her  girdle,  which  open 
every  cottage  and  every  palace.  She,  to  my  knowledge,  sate  all  last  summer 
by  the  bedside  of  the  blind  beggar,  him  that  so  often  and  so  gladly  I  talked 
with,  whose  pious  daughter,  eight  years  old,  with  the  sunny  countenance,  re- 
sisted the  temptations  of  play  and  village  mirth  to  travel  all  day  long  on  dusty 
roads  with  her  afflicted  father.  [For  this  did  God  send  her  a  great  reward. 
In  the  springtime  of  the  year,  and  whilst  yet  her  own  spring  was  budding,  he 
recalled  her  to  himself.  But  her  blind  father  mourns  forever  over  her  ;  still 
he  dreams  at  midnight  that  the  little  guiding  hand  is  locked  within  his  own; 
and  still  he  wakens  to  a  darkness  that  is  now  within  a  second  and  a  deeper 
darkness.]  This  Mater  Lachrymarum  also  has  been  sitting  all  this  winter 
of  1844-5  witnm  the  bedchamber  of  the  Czar,  bringing  before  his  eyes  a 
daughter  (not  less  pious)  that  vanished  to  God  not  less  suddenly,  and  left  be- 
hind her  a  darkness  not  less  profound.  By  the  power  of  her  keys  it  is  that 
Our  Lady  of  Tears  glides  a  ghostly  intruder  into  the  chambers  of  sleepless 
men,  sleepless  women,  sleepless  children,  from  Ganges  to  the  Nile,  from 
Nile  to  Mississippi.  And  her,  because  she  is  the  first-born  of  her  house,  and 
has  the  widest  empire,  let  us  honor  with  the  title  of  '  Madonna,'  " 


THE   PARAGRAPH.  209 

Beginnings  and  Endings.  —  On  this  subject  not  rules,  but  only 
general  suggestions,  can  be  given. 

The  opening  sentence  of  a  paragraph,  being  either  the  subject- 
sentence  or  a  transition  from  the  preceding  line  of  thought,  is 
ordinarily  a  comparatively  short  sentence.  Sometimes  several  of 
the  opening  sentences,  when  they  serve  to  introduce  and  iterate 
the  subject,  are  short,  and  then  followed  by  longer  sentences  of 
detail.  An  example  of  this  may  be  found  in  the  quotation  from 
Burke,  page  106.  The  same  character  of  the  opening  also  dictates 
that  its  style  be  more  concise,  and  less  ornamented,  than  the  style 
of  succeeding  sentences. 

The  closing  sentence  of  the  paragraph,  following  the  principle 
of  climax,  is  quite  generally  long,  often  periodic,  and  with  a  some- 
what carefully  rounded  cadence.  This  is  especially  noticeable  in 
impassioned  passages,  and  in  the  conclusion  of  an  oratoric  dis- 
course. An  exception  to  this  structure  is  sometimes  adopted  to 
good  effect  (it  was  a  favorite  with  Burke),  when  the  idea  which 
has  been  expanded  and  illustrated  in  the  body  of  the  paragraph 
is  condensed  at  the  end  into  a  single  terse  and  rememberable 
sentiment. 

EXAMPLES.  —  i.  The  following,  from  Macaulay,  will  illustrate  at  once  the 
short  opening  sentence  and  the  long  closing  one. 

"  A  historian,  such  as  we  have  been  attempting  to  describe,  would  indeed  be 
an  intellectual  prodigy.  In  his  mind,  powers  scarcely  compatible  with  each 
other  must  be  tempered  into  an  exquisite  harmony.  We  shall  sooner  see  an- 
other Shakespeare  or  another  Homer.  The  highest  excellence  to  which  any 
single  faculty  can  be  brought  would  be  less  surprising  than  such  a  happy 
and  delicate  combination  of  qualities.  Yet  the  contemplation  of  imaginary 
models  is  not  an  unpleasant  or  useless  employment  of  the  mind.  It  cannot 
indeed  produce  perfection;  but  it  produces  improvement,  and  nourishes  that 
generous  and  liberal  fastidiousness  which  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  strongest 
sensibility  to  merit,  and  which,  while  it  exalts  our  conceptions  of  the  art,  does 
not  render  us  unjust  to  the  artist." 

2.  The  following,  from  Burke,  illustrates  the  closing  of  a  paragraph  with  a 
terse  summarizing  sentiment. 

"  But  power,  of  some  kind  or  other,  will  survive  the  shock  in  which  man- 
ners and  opinions  perish  j  and  it  will  find  other  and  worse  means  for  its  sup- 


210  THE   PARAGRAPH. 

port.  The  usurpation  which,  in  order  to  subvert  ancient  institutions,  has 
destroyed  ancient  principles,  will  hold  power  by  arts  similar  to  those  by  which 
it  has  acquired  it.  When  the  old  feudal  and  chivalrous  spirit  of  Fealty,  which, 
by  freeing  kings  from  fear,  freed  both  kings  and  subjects  from  the  precautions 
of  tyranny,  shall  be  extinct  in  the  minds  of  men,  plots  and  assassinations  will 
be  anticipated  by  preventive  murder  and  preventive  confiscation,  and  that  long 
roll  of  grim  and  bloody  maxims,  which  form  the  political  code  of  all  power, 
not  standing  on  its  own  honor,  and  the  honor  of  those  who  are  to  obey  it. 
Kings  will  be  tyrants  from  policy  when  subjects  are  rebels  from  principle" 

II.    KINDS   OF   PARAGRAPHS. 

It  would  serve  no  practical  purpose  to  attempt  an  exhaustive 
classification  of  the  different  kinds  of  paragraphs  :  all  that  is  under- 
taken here  is  to  name  those  leading  types  wherein  the  office  of 
the  paragraph  is  apt  to  cause  fundamental  modifications  of  the 
structure. 

The  Prepositional  Paragraph. — This  is  the  common  and  nat- 
ural type  ;  indeed,  the  other  kinds  of  paragraphs  may  perhaps  be 
regarded  merely  as  sections  of  an  ideal  structure  represented  by 
this  form. 

In  this  type  of  paragraph,  the  subject  is  expressed  in  the  form 
of  a  definite  assertion,  and  then  developed,  by  proof  or  illustration 
or  some  form  of  repetition.  It  is  this  kind  that  exhibits  the  most 
regular  and  ordered  plan ;  it  is  a  united  whole  in  itself,  and  re- 
quires submission  to  the  laws  of  systematic  and  rounded  arrange- 
ment. 

EXAMPLE. — These  different  kinds  of  paragraphs  may  perhaps  best  be  ex- 
emplified from  Macaulay,  who  was  a  careful  master  of  paragraph  structure. 
The  first  is  from  his  essay  on  Hallam's  Constitutional  History. 

"  History,  at  least  in  its  state  of  ideal  perfection,  is  a  compound  of  poetry 
and  philosophy.  It  impresses  general  truths  on  the  mind  by  a  vivid  represen- 
tation of  particular  characters  and  incidents.  But,  in  fact,  the  two  hostile 
elements  of  which  it  consists  have  never  been  known  to  form  a  perfect  amal- 
gamation ;  and  at  length,  in  our  own  time,  they  have  been  completely  and 
professedly  separated.  Good  histories,  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  word,  we 
have  not.  But  we  have  good  historical  romances,  and  good  historical  essays. 
The  imagination  and  the  reason,  if  we  may  use  a  legal  metaphor,  have  made 


THE   PARAGRAPH.  211 

partition  of  a  province  of  literature  of  which  they  were  formerly  seized  per  my 
et  per  tout ;  and  now  they  hold  their  respective  portions  in  severally,  instead 
of  holding  the  whole  in  common." 

The  subject  of  this  paragraph,  which  is  gathered  from  the  first  two  sen- 
tences, is  The  Two  Functions  of  History  ;  and  the  sentences  proceed  system- 
atically to  define  them,  as  conjoined  and  as  separated. 

The  Amplifying  Paragraph.  —  Under  this  name  are  included 
paragraphs  whose  office  it  is  to  particularize  or  amplify  some  state- 
ment made  previously,  or  to  enumerate  the  details  of  a  descrip- 
tion or  narrative.  It  is  the  peculiarity  of  this  type  of  paragraph 
that  the  subject  is  not  definitely  expressed  but  has  to  be  gathered 
from  the  general  bearing  of  the  whole;  and  the  plan  has  merely 
to  seek  such  system  as  will  make  the  most  logical  and  progressive 
arrangement  of  coordinate  facts. 

EXAMPLE.  —  The  following  paragraph  immediately  succeeds  the  one  last 
quoted,  as  a  particularization  of  the  same  idea. 

"  To  make  the  past  present,  to  bring  the  distant  near,  to  place  us  in  the 
society  of  a  great  man,  or  on  the  eminence  which  overlooks  the  field  of  a 
mighty  battle,  to  invest  with  the  reality  of  human  flesh  and  blood  beings  whom 
we  are  too  much  inclined  to  consider  as  personified  qualities  in  an  allegory,  to 
call  up  our  ancestors  before  us  with  all  their  peculiarities  of  language,  man- 
ners, and  garb,  to  show  us  over  their  houses,  to  seat  us  at  their  tables,  to  rum- 
mage their  old-fashioned  wardrobes,  to  explain  the  uses  of  their  ponderous 
furniture,  these  parts  of  the  duty  which  properly  belongs  to  the  historian  have 
been  appropriated  by  the  historical  novelist.  On  the  other  hand,  to  extract 
the  philosophy  of  history,  to  direct  our  judgment  of  events  and  men,  to  trace 
the  connection  of  causes  and  effects,  and  to  draw  from  the  occurrences  of 
former  times  general  lessons  of  moral  and  political  wisdom,  has  become  the 
business  of  a  distinct  class  of  writers." 

Here  two  long  sentences  are  devoted  to  developing,  in  order,  the  subject 
suggested  in  the  preceding  paragraph. 

Preliminary  and  Transitional  Paragraphs.  — These  two  kinds 
are  mentioned  together  here,  because  whatever  is  to  be  said  of 
structure  will  apply  equally  to  both. 

By  a  preliminary  paragraph  is  meant  a  paragraph  that  gives 
merely  the  general  theme  of  a  chapter,  essay,  or  section  ;  or  lays 


212  THE   PARAGRAPH. 

out  the  plan  of  a  succeeding  course  of  thought.  Paragraphs  of 
amplification  naturally  follow. 

By  a  transitional  paragraph  is  meant  a  short  intermediate  para- 
graph introduced  between  the  principal  divisions  of  a  discourse,  to 
mark  the  end  of  one  line  of  thought  and  introduce  another.  Such 
a  paragraph  may  also  include  a  brief  statement  of  plan. 

There  is  naturally  little  thought  of  a  built  structure  in  such  par- 
agraphs as  these ;  the  sole  consideration  being  to  do  the  work  of 
introduction  and  transition  in  the  plainest  and  directest  way.  A 
word  may  be  said,  however,  concerning  their  serviceableness. 
They  are  as  useful  in  the  general  tissue  of  a  literary  work  as  an 
occasional  short  and  terse  sentence  is  among  longer  ones.  And 
too  little  care  is  generally  devoted  to  supplying  them.  Important 
ideas,  on  which  much  depends,  are  too  often  sprung  upon  the 
reader  abruptly,  without  warning  of  their  significance,  and  without 
discrimination  from  what  precedes.  The  landmarks  of  the  dis- 
course need  to  be  made  plain  at  every  step,  by  carefully  supplied 
connecting  links  of  this  kind. 

EXAMPLES.  —  i .  The  following  preliminary  paragraphs  occur  in  Burke's 
Speech  to  the  Electors  of  Bristol. 

"  It  has  been  said,  and  it  is  the  second  charge,  that  in  the  questions  of  the 
Irish  trade  I  did  not  consult  the  interest  of  my  constituents,  —  or,  to  speak 
out  strongly,  that  I  rather  acted  as  a  native  of  Ireland  than  as  an  English 
member  of  Parliament." 

"  In  explaining  to  you  the  proceedings  of  Parliament  which  have  been 
complained  of,  I  will  state  to  you,  —  first,  the  thing  that  was  done,  —  next,  the 
persons  who  did  it,  —  and  lastly,  the  grounds  and  reasons  upon  which  the 
legislature  proceeded  in  this  deliberate  act  of  public  justice  and  public  pru- 
dence." 

2.  The  following  transition  is  made  by  Macaulay,  in  the  middle  of  his 
essay  on  History.  By  it  he  passes  from  the  consideration  of  ancient  to  the 
consideration  of  modern  historians,  and  at  the  same  time  proposes  a  change 
in  manner  of  treatment. 

"  We  begin,  like  the  priest  in  Don  Quixote's  library,  to  be  tired  with  taking 
down  books  one  after  another  for  separate  judgment,  and  feel  inclined  to  pass 
sentence  on  them  in  masses.  We  shall,  therefore,  instead  of  pointing  out  the 
defects  and  merits  of  the  different  modern  historians,  state  generally  in  what 


THE  PARAGRAPH.  213 

particulars  they  have  surpassed  their  predecessors,  and  in  what  we  conceive 
them  to  have  failed." 

Alternation  of  Kinds.  —  By  the  best  writers  the  same  care  is 
taken  to  secure  variety  in  paragraphs  as  in  sentences;  and  this 
variety  is  obtained  by  analogous  means.  Most  natural  and  fre- 
quent is  the  alternation  of  length ;  short  or  medium  sized  para- 
graphs setting  off  and  relieving  longer  ones.  Next  in  frequency 
is  the  alternation  of  thought,  by  which  a  lighter  or  merely  illustra- 
tive paragraph  is  made  to  follow  one  of  more  severe  or  closely 
reasoned  nature.  Alternation  of  structure  is  closely  connected 
with  this.  A  long  succession  of  prepositional  paragraphs,  for 
instance,  would  seem  to  overload  the  discourse  with  strenuous 
thought :  they  need  to  be  judiciously  relieved  by  paragraphs  of 
detail  or  amplification.  Further,  —  in  the  same  way  as  has  been 
noticed  regarding  the  alternation  of  periodic  and  loose  sentences, 
and  regarding  dynamic  stress,  —  the  distinctive  or  significant  part 
of  consecutive  paragraphs  should  be  varied  between  the  beginning 
and  the  end,  to  avoid  the  monotony  of  the  same  rise  and  fall  of 
emphasis. 

Final  Suggestions  on  the  Study  of  Style.  —  Before  we  pass  to 
the  discussion  of  invention,  two  or  three  suggestions  on  the  practi- 
cal use  of  the  foregoing  principles  as  means  of  discipline  may  be 
of  service  to  the  student. 

i .  To  be  of  real  value  these  principles  of  expression  must  be  so 
thoroughly  grounded  in  the  writer's  mind  that  they  will  occur 
spontaneously  whenever  occasion  for  them  rises.  He  needs  to 
reach  such  assured  touch  as  not  to  think  of  style  and  yet  achieve 
a  good  style  ;  clear  and  clean  expression  must  be  so  provided  for 
in  the  very  texture  of  his  nature  that  it  may  secure  itself  unforced, 
while  his  energies  are  all  absorbed  in  finding  and  moulding  the 
subject-matter.  This  point  may  be  reached,  but  only  by  acquiring 
a  habitual  interest  in  the  details  of  expression  for  their  own  sake, 
and  by  patient  training  until  the  mastery  of  them  has  become 
second  nature. 


214  THE  PARAGRAPH. 

2.  Care  for  the  appearance  of  one's  work, — its  punctuation  and 
capitalization,  its  chirography  and  general  mechanism,  —  is  closely 
connected  with  care  for  a  clear  and  satisfying  style.     We  may 
truly  say  all  is  of  one.     Not  that  the  good  author  must  necessarily 
be  a  good  penman,  —  that  were  too  much  to  assert ;  but  in  the 
passion  for  accuracy,  which  is  the  author's  true  attitude,  the  hand 
should  so  answer  to  the  mind  that  no  minute  feature  may  be 
neglected  or  despised.     The  desire  to  make  every  word  and  letter 
plain  consorts  naturally  with  the  desire  to  make  thoughts  plain ; 
and  slovenliness  in  the  one  begets  slovenliness  in  the  other. 

3.  In  this  day  of  type-writers,  stylographic  pens,  and  various 
devices  for  increasing  rapidity  in  writing,  a  word  may  profitably 
be  said  on  the  other  side.     It  is  quite  possible  to  write  too  fast. 
Indeed,  in  any  work  higher  than  mere  transcribing  or  taking  notes 
mere  rapidity  should  not  be  aimed  at.     The  first  conception  of  a 
thought  seldom  exists  in  the  form  it  ought  finally  to  take ;  it  must 
be  pondered  and  tested  and  rounded  until  the  form  answers  fully 
to  the  idea ;  and  this  the  writer  can  best  do  by  compelling  him- 
self to  write  so  slowly  that  all  questions  of  accuracy,  clearness, 
consistency,  fulness,  and  euphony  may  be  settled  in  the  interval 
between  the  first  mental  conception  and  its  final  form  on  paper.   To 
write  both  well  and  rapidly  is  a  desirable  accomplishment ;  but 
let  the  writer  at  all  events  seek  to  write  well,  never  letting  any 
ill-considered  or  careless  work  escape  him,  and  then  if  by  practice 
and  experience  rapidity  also  comes,  it  is  worth  something.     The 
motto  of  the  late  George  Ripley,  who,  it  is  said,  made  his  use  of 
the  English  language  a  matter  of  conscience,  ought  to  be  always 
in  the  writer's  heart :  "  He  who  does  not  write  as  well  as  he  can 
on  every  occasion  will  soon  form  the  habit  of  not  writing  well 
at  all." 


II. 
INVENTION. 


"  Remember  always,  you  have  two  characters  in  which  all  greatness  of  art 
consists:  —  First,  the  earnest  and  intense  seizing  of  natural  facts;  then  the 
ordering  those  facts  by  strength  of  human  intellect,  so  as  to  make  them,  for 
all  who  look  upon  them,  to  the  utmost  serviceable,  memorable,  and  beautiful. 
And  thus  great  art  is  nothing  else  than  the  type  of  strong  and  noble  life;  for, 
as  the  ignoble  person,  in  his  dealings  with  all  that  occurs  in  the  world  about 
him,  first  sees  nothing  clearly,  —  looks  nothing  fairly  in  the  face,  and  then 
allows  himself  to  be  swept  away  by  the  trampling  torrent,  and  unescapable 
force,  of  the  things  that  he  would  not  foresee,  and  could  not  understand :  so 
the  noble  person,  looking  the  facts  of  the  world  full  in  the  face,  and  fathom- 
ing them  with  deep  faculty,  then  deals  with  them  in  unalarmed  intelligence 
and  unhurried  strength,  and  becomes,  with  his  human  intellect  and  will,  no 
unconscious  nor  insignificant  agent,  in  consummating  their  good,  and  restrain- 
ing their  evil."  —  Ruskin, 


INVENTION. 


Scope  of  Invention.  —  Invention,  as  applied  to  literary  under- 
takings, comprehends  the  various  procedures  involved  in  finding, 
sifting,  and  ordering  the  material  of  discourse. 

These  three  processes,  which  may  be  regarded  as  the  three 
logical  stages  of  the  inventive  act,  it  is  important  briefly  to  define 
and  discriminate. 

1.  The  first  stage,  the  finding  of  material  by  thought  or  obser- 
vation, is  the  fundamental  and  inclusive  office  of  invention,  the 
distinctive  power  that  we  designate  in  the  popular  use  of  the  term. 
Herein  lies  obviously  the  heart  and  centre  of  literary  production ; 
it  is  what  the  writer  finds,  in  his  subject  or  in  the  world  of  thought, 
that  gauges  his  distinction  as  an  author.     Yet  this  is,  of  all  pro- 
cesses, the  one  least  to  be  invaded  by  the  rules  of  the  text-book. 
It  is  a  work  so  individual,  so  dependent  on  the  peculiar  aptitude 
and  direction  of  the  writer's  mind,  that  each  one  must  be  left  for 
the  most  part  to  find  his  way  alone,  according  to  the  impulse  that 
is  in  him.     This  is  but  saying  that  each  man  must  be  left  to  his 
own  way  of  thinking,  whether  it  be  spiritless  and  lean,  or  vigorous 
and  suggestive.     Such  invention  is  incommunicable  by  teaching. 
Something  of  real  value  may  be  done  for  it  indirectly,  however, 
by  general  precepts  for  self-culture,  and  by  inculcation   of  the 
mental  habits  that  arouse  the  latent  creative  powers,  and  give 
them  steadiness  and  self-consistency. 

2.  But  a  moment's  thought  makes  it  evident  that  the  inventive 
act  is  by  no  means  exhausted  with  the  mere  finding  of  material. 
Indeed,  the  material  is  not  properly  found,  or  at  least  ascertained 
to  be  what  is  needed,  until  it  has  been  subjected  to  a  rigorous 
process  of  testing,  choosing,  and  rejecting.     At  every  step  it  has 


218  INVENTION. 

to  be  held  up  in  the  light  of  an  unspoken  standard  in  the  writer's 
mind :  the  standard  mainly  of  his  own  sense  of  fitness  and  pro- 
portion, but  also  conditioned  largely  by  extraneous  considerations, 
such  as  the  character  of  the  audience  or  public,  the  allotted  time 
or  scope  of  the  production,  the  circumstances  of  utterance,  the 
exactions  of  the  literary  form  adopted.  This  stage  of  invention  is 
only  to  a  limited  extent  within  the  teacher's  province.  It  belongs 
rather  to  the  writer's  native  tact  and  logical  sense,  and  to  the  de- 
mands of  the  individual  occasion. 

3.  Even  yet  we  discern  an  important  step  involved  in  the  work  of 
finding ;  for  until  the  material  has  been  carefully  ordered,  with  its 
parts  skillfully  adjusted  to  each  other  and  to  the  whole,  the  ques- 
tion of  retention  or  rejection,  and  therefore  of  discovering,  is  still 
open.  The  discourse  is  to  be  not  a  mere  agglomeration  of  state- 
ments, but  an  organism,  fitted  to  move  as  one  thought,  and  be 
incorporated  into  the  reader's  mind.  "  In  a  good  composition," 
says  Ruskin,1  "  every  idea  is  presented  in  just  that  order,  and  with 
just  that  force,  which  will  perfectly  connect  it  with  all  the  other 
thoughts  in  the  work,  and  will  illustrate  the  others  as  well  as 
receive  illustration  from  them ;  so  that  the  entire  chain  of  thoughts 
offered  to  the  beholder's  mind  shall  be  received  by  him  with  as 
much  delight  and  with  as  little  effort  as  is  possible.  And  thus  you 
see  design,  properly  so  called,  is  human  invention,  consulting 
human  capacity.  Out  of  the  infinite  heap  of  things  around  us  in 
the  world,  it  chooses  a  certain  number  which  it  can  thoroughly 
grasp,  and  presents  this  group  to  the  spectator  in  the  form  best 
calculated  to  enable  him  to  grasp  it  also,  and  to  grasp  it  with 
delight." 

The  ordering  of  discourse  is  the  inventive  process  most  suscep- 
tible to  treatment  in  a  text-book.  To  be  sure,  in  the  individual 
case  the  writer  must  still  be  left  to  his  own  ideas  of  the  progress 
and  proportion  that  he  sees  fitting  to  his  work ;  but  also  there  are 
definite  and  ascertainable  laws  underlying  the  construction  of  any 
form  of  discourse,  which  no  writer  can  afford  to  ignore.  Accord- 
*  Ruskin,  "  Two  Paths,"  p.  44. 


INVENTION.  219 

ingly,  it  shall  be  the  main  task  of  this  second  part  to  exhibit  and 
exemplify  these  organic  laws,  as  they  appear  both  in  the  general 
structure  of  a  work,  and  in  the  particular  aspects  of  the  various 
literary  types. 

Of  the  eight  chapters  that  make  up  the  second  half  of  this  book, 
the  first  two  are  devoted  to  a  discussion  of  the  principles  that 
belong  to  any  literary  work  ;  and  the  remaining  six  to  the  partic- 
ular applications  of  them,  as  seen  in  the  leading  forms  of  dis- 
course. 


220  APTITUDES  AND  HABITS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  BASIS  IN  MENTAL  APTITUDES  AND  HABITS. 

IN  discussing  the  general  principles  of  literary  invention,  we 
must  begin  far  back  of  the  immediate  occasion,  and  consider  the 
writer's  endowments,  as  bestowed  by  nature,  and  as  developed  by 
education  and  experience.  For  the  author  is  both  born  and 
made ;  and  what  he  writes,  if  it  has  true  worth,  is  a  genuine  ex- 
pression of  his  affluence  of  mind  and  life,  as  well  as  of  his  ac- 
quired constructive  skill.  Therefore  each  writer  needs  first  of  all 
to  interrogate  himself,  and  become  aware  of  the  nature,  direction, 
and  limits  of  his  inborn  aptitudes,  in  order  that  by  obeying  these 
his  literary  activity  may  follow  its  most  congenial  bent ;  and  upon 
these  he  needs  to  build  habits  of  thought  and  self-culture  which 
shall  be  a  perpetual  feeder  to  his  inner  resources,  keeping  them 
full  and  ready  for  use ;  his  mind  not  at  the  mercy  of  moods  or 
subject  to  periods  of  barrenness,  but  alert,  keen,  quickly  com- 
pliant to  his  will. 

I.    INVENTION  AS  A  NATURAL  GIFT. 

The  laws  of  literary  invention  are  simply  the  laws  of  logical 
activity  practically  applied  in  transmitting  ideas  from  one  mind  to 
others,  with  accompaniment,  as  occasion  may  dictate,  of  emotion 
or  appeal.  Such  work  as  this,  however,  cannot  be  merely  mechan- 
ical, nor  can  it  result  from  training  alone.  It  requires,  to  begin 
with,  some  degree  of  special  aptitude :  there  must  exist  in  the 
writer  an  originating  and  combining  power  as  truly  inborn  as  is 
the  musician's  natural  ear  for  melody,  and  the  artist's  natural  eye 
for  form  and  color. 

However  proficient  he  may  become  in  acquired  ability,  there- 
fore, each  writer  must  obey  primarily  a  native  ideal  and  individu- 


APTITUDES  AND  HABITS.  221 

ality  of  origination  and  combination ;  his  success  can  be  achieved 
only  as  he  educates  and  disciplines  what  is  already  in  him.  Thus 
nature  develops  along  the  line  of  its  own  perfecting,  into  art; 
and  the  art  itself  is  nature.  "Art,"  says  Professor  Wilkinson,1  "in 
the  sense  in  which  we  are  now  using  it,  that  is,  to  denote  the  pains 
bestowed  by  the  artist  on  his  work,  is  merely  nature  giving  atten- 
tion to  itself.  It  is  nature  in  a  mood  of  self-consciousness.  Thus, 
to  speak  like  a  mathematician,  it  is  limited  to  yield  a  higher  power 
of  nature" 

Marks  of  the  Inventive  Aptitude.  —  More  deeply  seated  than 
its  individual  peculiarities,  we  discern  two  native  tendencies  espe- 
cially characteristic  of  the  inventive  mind. 

1.  First  of  all,  it  is  a  natural  ability  to  grasp  facts  and  ideas  in 
such  combinations  as  give  them  organism  and  significance.     To 
such  a  mind  nothing  is  seen  as  isolated ;  there  are  no  disjecta 
membra  in  the  sum  of  its  thinking.     Every  fact  has  a  relation  and 
a  suggestiveness  by  which  it  is  allied  with  other  facts  and  finds  its 
place  in  the  fabric  of  a  greater  unity.     In  such  a  mind  things 
seem  to  fall  into  such  order  and  proportion  that  a  new  interest  is 
lent  to  them.     This  natural  inventiveness  is  recognized  in  popular 
speech,  when  people  are  described  as  having  "  the  gift  to  set  out 
a  story,"  or  as  being  able  to  "  get  at  the  gist  of  a  thing." 

2.  But  we  discern  here  more  than  the  merely  constructive  fac- 
ulty.    The  inventive  mind  also  habitually  views  facts  and  ideas  as 
adapted  to  have  power  on  others.     It  does  not  construct  for  itself 
alone  ;  it  seeks  by  a  natural  instinct  to  conform  its  thinking  to  the 
capacity  and  standards  of  the  people  addressed.     The  inventive 
mind  has  a  tact  to  get  into  the  ways  of  other  minds  and  direct 
their  thoughts  and  interests.     Thus  we  may  say  authorship  starts 
from  the  desire  in  some  degree  to  form  and  mold  the  minds  of 
men ;  it  is  this  implicit  desire  that  we  trace  most  deeply  in  the 
skill  and  fine  calculation   that  constitute   the   felicity   of  literary 
form. 

A  person  with  such  an  aptitude  is  recognized  not  only  by  the 

1  Wilkinson,  "  A  Free  Lance  in  the  Field  of  Life  and  Letters,"  p.  200. 


222  APTITUDES  AND  HABITS. 

literature  he  makes,  but  by  his  whole  manner  of  looking  at  things. 
He  has  an  independence  and  individuality  of  view  that  makes  men 
take  interest  in  his  utterances. 

Analogy  with  the  Painter's  Art.  —  The  man  of  inventive 
aptitude  possesses  by  nature,  and  of  course  develops  to  greater 
power  and  unerringness  by  experience,  the  same  sense  of  a  sub- 
ject's adaptability  to  literary  treatment  that  the  artist  has  of  the 
fitness  of  a  scene,  in  combination  and  balance  of  parts,  for  a  pic- 
ture. The  parallel  is  thus  drawn  by  Walter  Bagehot : l  — 

"  There  should  be  a  word  in  the  language  of  literary  art  to  ex- 
press what  the  word  '  picturesque '  expresses  for  the  fine  arts. 
Picturesque  means  fit  to  be  put  into  a  picture ;  we  want  a  word 
literatesque,  '  fit  to  be  put  into  a  book.'  An  artist  goes  through  a 
hundred  different  country  scenes,  rich  with  beauties,  charms,  and 
merits,  but  he  does  not  paint  any  of  them.  He  leaves  them  alone; 
he  idles  on  till  he  finds  the  hundred-and-first — a  scene  which 
many  observers  would  not  think  much  of,  but  which  he  knows  by 
virtue  of  his  art  will  look  well  on  canvas,  and  this  he  paints  and 
preserves.  Susceptible  observers,  though  not  artists,  feel  this 
quality  too ;  they  say  of  a  scene,  '  How  picturesque  ! '  meaning 
by  this  a  quality  distinct  from  that  of  beauty,  or  sublimity,  or  gran- 
deur —  meaning  to  speak  not  only  of  the  scene  as  it  is  in  itself, 
but  also  of  its  fitness  for  imitation  by  art ;  meaning  not  only  that 
it  is  good,  but  that  its  goodness  is  such  as  ought  to  be  transferred 
to  paper ;  meaning  not  simply  that  it  fascinates,  but  also  that  its 
fascination  is  such  as  ought  to  be  copied  by  man.  .  .  .  Literature 
—  the  painting  of  words  —  has  the  same  quality,  but  wants  the 
analogous  word.  The  word  '  literatesque '  would  mean,  if  we  pos- 
sessed it,  that  perfect  combination  in  the  subject-matter  of  litera- 
ture, which  suits  the  art  of  literature.  ...  As  a  painter  must  have 
not  only  a  hand  to  execute,  but  an  eye  to  distinguish  —  as  he  must 
go  here  and  there  through  the  real  world  to  catch  the  picturesque 
man,  the  picturesque  scene,  which  is  to  live  on  his  canvas — so  the 
poet  must  find  in  that  reality  the  literatesque  man,  the  literatesque 

1  Bagehot,  "Literary  Studies,"  Vol.  II.  p.  341. 


APTITUDES  AND  HABITS.  223 

scene,  which  nature  intends  for  him,  and  which  will  live  in  his 
page." 

Thus  —  to  apply  the  above  analogy  —  we  may  say  the  mark  of 
the  inventive  mind  is  an  aptitude  to  discern  literary  capabilities  in 
a  subject,  a  native  endowment  of  imagination  and  skill  which  in- 
tuitively chooses  such  facts  as  are  effective  and  groups  them  in 
interesting  combinations.  Such  endowment  profits  indefinitely  by 
discipline,  but  its  beginning  is  deeper  than  any  discipline  can 
reach. 

NOTE.  —  An  interesting  example  of  what  an  inventive  mind  can  make  of  a 
subject  apparently  meagre  and  commonplace  in  itself,  may  be  seen  in  Irving's 
sketch  of  The  Stout  Gentleman  in  his  "  Bracebridge  Hall."  The  sketch, 
which  is  certainly  charming,  owes  absolutely  all  its  interest  to  invention. 

Kinds  of  Inventive  Ability.  —  The  implication  of  the  above  is 
that  there  are  many  who  have  no  inventive  gifts ;  and  this  is  doubt- 
less true ;  but  the  lack  is  not  so  common  as  a  hasty  judgment 
might  conclude,  nor  is  it  to  be  argued  from  a  comparison  of  one 
mind  with  another.  For  inventive  talent  may  be  of  infinitely 
varied  kinds.  No  two  persons  would  develop  the  resources  of  a 
subject  in  exactly  the  same  way.  Differences  in  plan,  in  illustra- 
tion, in  argument,  would  evince  minds  moving  in  different  regions 
of  thought  and  feeling.  Each  mind  must  have  its  own  world, 
dwell  in  its  own  congenial  region,  in  order  to  see  truth  clearly  and 
represent  it  with  sincerity.  So  doubtless  there  is  discoverable 
some  range  of  ideas  in  which  every  man  who  may  be  educated  at 
all  may  be  to  some  extent  an  effective  writer.  But  this  he  must 
find  for  himself;  no  other  can  prescribe  it  for  him. 

Thus,  to  exemplify  the  kinds  of  invention.  One  writer  deals 
most  naturally  with  simple,  concrete  facts ;  his  ijnpulse  is  to  make 
a  plain,  unembellished  statement,  with  clearness  and  method,  of 
what  he  has  seen  and  heard.  A  good  example  of  this  is  found  in 
the  Personal  Memoirs  of  General  Grant,  a  book  which,  in  its  valu- 
able characteristic  of  striking  directly  for  the  important  points, 
saying  neither  too  much  nor  too  little,  shows  inventive  ability  of  a 
high  order.  Another  writer  thinks  spontaneously  in  figures,  cov- 


224  APTITUDES  AND  HABITS. 

ering  every  topic  with  imaginative  and  poetic  suggestion,  and  fill- 
ing plan  and  portrayal  with  a  delicate  grace.  Examples  of  this 
may  be  seen  in  the  works  of  Hawthorne  and  Lowell.  A  third  has 
an  aptitude  for  abstract  thinking ;  he  moves  naturally  among  gen- 
eral principles  and  large  reaches  of  philosophy.  This  kind  of 
invention  may  be  seen  in  the  works  of  Bacon,  Jonathan  Edwards, 
Emerson.  These  examples  suggest  that  every  man  has  his  place, 
or  rather  makes  his  place  according  to  his  individual  endowment, 
in  the  world  of  literary  achievement ;  and  that  it  is  not  the  kind 
of  invention  that  determines  his  rank,  but  merely  excellence  in 
the  kind  most  natural  to  his  powers. 

Grades  of  Invention.  —  Quite  distinct  from  the  manner  in 
which  the  inventor's  mind  works,  there  are  recognized  grades  of 
power  in  the  writer's  chosen  field,  which  designate  the  nature  of 
his  genius  or  talent. 

i .  First  and  highest  of  all  is  what  may  be  called  the  originative 
invention.  By  this  is  meant  that  masterly  power  of  insight  and 
imagination  which  creates  new  scenes,  new  characters,  new  systems 
of  ideas.  Its  work  is  best  represented  in  the  great  productions  of 
poetry  and  fiction,  and  in  those  masterpieces  of  science  and  phi- 
losophy which,  because  they  open  new  regions  of  achievement  in 
their  sphere,  the  Germans  expressively  name  bahnbrechende  (road- 
breaking)  works.  The  greatest  works  in  this  grade  of  invention 
are  associated  with  the  supreme  names  of  literature  and  discovery ; 
with  such  names  as  Shakespeare  in  poetry,  Scott  in  fiction,  New- 
ton in  science,  Bacon  in  philosophy.  It  is  the  kind  of  invention 
recognized  in  the  name  TTOO/TT/S  (maker)  which  the  Greeks  gave  to 
their  leading  writers ;  a  name  that  means  more  than  our  derived 
word  poet,  in  that  «it  makes  the  writer's  merit  centre  in  his  power 
to  create  new  worlds  of  ideas,  images,  and  events,  which  power  is 
now  divided  between  poetry  and  fiction.  Every  poet  and  nov- 
elist may  be  regarded  as  a  practitioner  in  this  grade  of  invention, 
though  in  the  grade  his  work  may  fill  a  humble  place.  It  is,  in 
general,  the  kind  of  invention  that  distinguishes  "  the  born  seers 
—  men  who  see  for  themselves  and  who  originate." 


APTITUDES  AND  HABITS.  225 

2.  The  second  grade,  which  is  perhaps  the  most  widely  useful, 
may  be  called  the  reproductive  invention.     Not  aiming  at  strict 
origination,  this  inventive  activity  is  exerted  to  put  common  ideas 
into  new  shapes  and  combinations,  to  restate  abstruse  thought  in 
popular  form,  to  make  clear  what  is  obscure,  to  make  interesting 
what  is  dry  and  commonplace,  to  make  definite  what  is  scattered 
or  hinted,  to  put  into  order  and  system  what   is   vague.    The 
products  of  this  mode  of  invention  appear  in  oratory,  in  popular 
treatises  and  text-books,  and  in  the  numerous  essays,  critiques,  and 
discussions  with  which  periodical  literature  abounds.     Writers  of 
this  class  are  in  an  honorable  sense  the  middle-men  between  the 
deeply  originative  thinkers  and  the  common  mind  ;  taking  as  they 
do  the  masterpieces  of  thought,  and  by  simplification  and  illustra- 
tion giving  it  currency  among  ordinary  people. 

3.  The  third  and  lowliest  grade  may  be  called  the  methodizing 
invention.     Under  this  head  comes  what  Matthew  Arnold  calls 
the  "journeyman  work"  of  literature;   such  work  as  compiling 
and   translating,  editing  and  annotating,  arranging  and  adapting 
information  in  books  of  reference,  tabular  views,   and   the  like. 
Work  of  this  kind,  though  but  moderately  inventive,  has  very  real 
usefulness,  and  contributes  incalculably  to  the  wider  extension  of 
general  knowledge. 

These  grades  represent  degrees  of  greatness  in  work,  not  degrees 
of  honorableness.  Any  grade  of  work,  well  done,  not  only  has  the 
distinction  of  excellence  in  its  class,  but  may  receive  such  a  mas- 
terly touch  as  will  give  to  the  class  itself  a  new  dignity.  All  grades 
are  susceptible  to  genius.  "It  not  infrequently  happens,  espe- 
cially in  philosophy  and  science,  that  the  man  of  talent  may  con- 
fer a  lustre  on  the  original  invention ;  he  takes  it  up  a  nugget  and 
lays  it  down  a  coin."  1 

Finding  One's  Sphere  in  Authorship. — Since  the  field  of  use- 
ful literature  is  so  large,  and  the  scope  of  invention  so  varied,  it  is 
precarious  for  the  student  to  conclude  hastily  that  authorship  is 
beyond  him.  This  may  indeed  be  the  case ;  but  also  it  may  be 
1  George  Henry  Lewes,  in  Fortnightly  Review,  Vol.  I.  p.  196. 


226  APTITUDES  AND  HABITS. 

that  his  peculiar  powers  are  merely  latent,  awaiting  the  occasion 
that  is  to  call  them  forth.  Many  writers,  beginning  in  some  pre- 
scribed or  beaten  track  of  composition,  wherein  their  interest  lan- 
guishes and  their  work  is  but  commonplace,  give  little  evidence 
and  are  as  little  aware,  of  what  is  in  them ;  but  when  they  find  the 
work  they  are  best  endowed  to  do,  they  leap  at  once  to  natural- 
ness and  enthusiasm,  striking  out  a  new  and  congenial  line  and 
finding  it  productive.  It  is  generally  when  they  are  brought  face 
to  face  with  responsibility  that  men  truly  discover  themselves ; 
when  they  are  brought  to  feel  that  living  and  important  issues 
depend  upon  their  work,  and  when  they  can  throw  their  whole 
nature  into  utterance.  At  such  time  their  inventive  powers  re- 
ceive their  deepest  impulse  to  development. 

But  though  every  writer  must  find  in  himself  powers  peculiar  to 
himself,  and  though  these  powers  oftenest  awake  at  the  call  of 
real  experience,  the  discovery  is  best  made  through  training  and 
guidance.  What  at  the  beginning  exists  crude  and  unapt  must 
and  may  be  raised  to  fine  issues  and  abilities ;  and  the  sooner  this 
preliminary  stage  is  provided  for,  the  better.  There  may  be  much 
in  the  man,  but  running  wild  and  useless  for  lack  of  discipline. 
And  the  more  there  is,  the  more  kindly  he  takes  to  the  rules  and 
precepts  of  the  literary  art, — the  more  he  thrives  on  the  sober, 
severe  canons  already  formulated  for  his  guidance.  It  is  only  the 
conceited  that  despise  counsel. 

II.    THE  MENTAL  HABITS  THAT  PROMOTE  INVENTION. 

Gifted  as  the  writer  may  be,  his  native  endowments  are  of  little 
solid  use,  and  may  indeed  be  a  positive  snare,  unless  they  are 
brought  by  discipline  to  the  point  where  they  may  be  infallibly 
relied  upon,  and  not  be  the  sport  of  mood  and  chance.  This 
point  is  reached  only  by  conscientious  self-culture.  The  writer 
needs  to  form  regular  habits  of  observation,  reading,  and  thought 
congenial  to  the  peculiar  bent  of  his  mind,  and  thus  a  second 
nature  in  the  determination  of  his  literary  activities.  Such  habits, 


APTITUDES  AND  HABITS.  227 

rightly  farmed,  not  only  train  and  steady  the  suggestive  faculty, 
but  do  much  to  call  it  out  when  latent. 

Under  the  heads  of  observation,  thought,  and  reading,  we  will 
'  here  discuss  the  chief  of  these  desirable  mental  habits,  and  en- 
deavor to  trace  their  influence  on  the  writer's  powers  of  invention. 

I. 

Habits  of  Observation.  — The  most  potent  stimulus  and  aid  to 
original  production  is  the  keen  and  intelligent  use  of  the  eyes  and 
ears.  In  a  sense  all  the  activities  of  authorship  are  reducible  to 
this.  It  is  as  applicable  to  the  work  of  gathering  results  by  reading 
and  thought  as  to  the  work  of  noting  facts  of  nature.  For  just  as 
one  person  may  be  listless  and  insensible  to  what  is  in  the  world 
about  him  while  another  is  keenly  alive  to  every  sight  and  sound, 
so  one  in  the  same  manner  gathers  little  or  nothing  from  a  printed 
page,  while  to  another  it  is  luminous  with  suggestion.  It  is  not 
the  eye,  but  the  mind  behind  the  eye,  the  observing  faculty  and 
tendency,  that  makes  the  difference.  This  observing  faculty  it  is, 
"the  harvest  of  a  quiet  eye,"  that  makes  the  world  worth  infinitely 
more  to  its  possessor  than  it  is  to  the  listless.  Whatever,  there- 
fore, quickens  and  develops  this  faculty  has  signal  value  for  all  the 
operations  of  literary  invention. 

Let  us  here  notice  the  elements  of  the  observing  activity  most 
to  be  cherished  and  developed  as  a  habit. 

Mental  Alertness.  —  "A  faculty  of  wise  interrogating,"  says 
Lord  Bacon,1  "  is  half  a  knowledge.  For  as  Plato  saith,  '  Whoso- 
ever ^seeketh,  knoweth  that  which  he  seeketh  for  in  a  general 
notion  :  else  how  shall  he  know  it  when  he  hath  found  it  ? '  And 
therefore  the  larger  your  anticipation  is,  the  more  direct  and  com- 
pendious is  your  search."  By  mental  alertness  is  meant  this  "  large 
anticipation"  :  it  is  simply  keeping  the  mind  ready  to  receive  ideas, 
directed  actively  to  what  is  around  us  and  before  us,  in  the  atti- 
tude of  constant  interrogation. 

1  Bacon,  "Advancement  of  Learning,"  Book  II. 


228  APTITUDES  AND  HABITS. 

Every  man's  calling  contributes  in  its  one  direction  4o  mental 
alertness.  The  objects  that  enter  his  daily  work  and  calculation 
become  the  centre  of  his  observing  capacity,  so  that  he  has  keen- 
ness of  vision  and  sense  preeminently  for  such  things.  The 
artist,  for  instance,  has  a  quick  eye  for  color  and  outline ;  the 
mechanic  is  prompt  to  detect  marks  of  ingenuity  and  skillful  con- 
trivance ;  the  farmer  sees  with  interest  what  pertains  to  crops  and 
soil.  Consider  how  differently  the  same  scene  would  affect  these 
three  men,  and  how  much  more  acute  each  is  in  his  own  line  than 
any  person  outside  his  calling.  Minutiae  that  are  invisible  to 
others  are  to  him  of  cardinal  significance.  Each  has  come  to 
have  mental  alertness  in  his  particular  realm  of  ideas  ;  his  manner 
of  life  has  developed  in  him  a  special  sense. 

It  is  the  privilege  and  advantage  of  the  writer  to  educate  him- 
self into  a  kind  of  universal  special  sense.  For  the  truth  he  is 
seeking  he  can  lay  every  realm  of  thought  and  activity  under  cqn- 
tribution,  and  be  sure  that  no  minuteness  of  attention  can  be 
amiss.  Such  liveliness  of  interest,  such  ready  response  to  whatever 
is  significant  in  nature  and  life,  brings  surprising  harvests  of  sug- 
gestion and  illustration  to  the  inventive  faculty ;  so  that  much  of 
the  rudimentary  work  of  invention  gets  itself  done  without  effort ; 
and  especially  that  important  initial  step,  finding  the  germs  of 
new  ideas,  becomes  more  and  more  spontaneous,  no  longer  a 
drudgery  but  a  delight. 

Catholicity  of  Taste  and  Interest. — The  author  is  the  true 
cosmopolitan  in  thought.  Seeking  to  make  ideas  plain  and  inter- 
esting to  all  kinds  of  men,  he  must  be  able  in  some  sense  to  look 
at  the  world  through  each  man's  eyes,  to  find  what  aspect  of  truth 
is  most  living  from  each  man's  point  of  view.  It  is  important, 
therefore,  not  only  that  his  observing  faculty  be  alert,  but  that  it 
approach  with  interest  a  wide  and  varied  range  of  subjects.  The 
value  of  such  catholicity  of  interest  lies  both  in  subject  and  in 
method.  In  subject :  for  the  various  regions  of  life  and  fact  yield 
all  of  them  suggestive  ranges  of  view ;  in  method,  too :  for  each 
single  object  of  thought  or  observation  maybe  variously  significant 


APTITUDES  AND  HABITS.  229 

according  to  the  view,  matter-of-fact,  or  scientific,  or  poetic.  It 
is  for  the  writer's  complete  furnishing  not  to  insulate  himself  in 
one  narrow  outlook,  but  to  welcome  all  phases  of  contemplation, 
so  far  as  he  can  educate  his  nature  thereto.  And  the  value  of  a 
general  education  in  many  things,  as  distinguished  from  a  mere 
specialist's  training,  is  here  evident ;  for  each  subject,  though  but 
outlined,  opens  a  new  region  of  ideas.1 

The  cultivation  of  such  varied  ways  of  looking  at  things  brings 
good  to  the  writer  in  several  important  respects. 

In  the  first  place,  it  makes  any  view  of  truth  more  satisfying  and 
conclusive  to  combine  it,  whether  implicitly  or  avowedly,  with 
other  views.  No  object's  significance  can  be  exhausted  from  a 
single  direction  or  angle.  Just  as  in  viewing  natural  objects,  our 
judgment  of  their  solidity  and  distance  is  due  to  the  fact  that  our 
two  eyes  are  directed  upon  them  from  slightly  different  angles ; 
so  in  contemplating  objects  of  the  mind,  —  we  need  to  see  more 
than  one  side  in  order  rightly  to  see  one  side. 

Secondly,  such  catholicity  of  interest  renders  an  important  ser- 
vice to  the  writer  in  freeing  him  from  the  mere  standard  of  likes 
and  dislikes.  He  learns  to  like  men  for  what  is  likeable  in  them  ; 
to  judge  facts  and  systems  from  their  own  intrinsic  points  of  view. 
Not  that  he  thereby  becomes  less  positive  in  his  judgments  of  right 
and  wrong ;  nor  need  he  become  insincere  and  weakly  tolerant  of 
everything.  But  he  learns  to  form  judgments  and  reach  conclu- 
sions un warped  by  prejudices.  Tolerant  and  charitable  he  indeed 
becomes,  but  wisely  so ;  and  at  the  same  time  he  is  ever  in  readi- 
ness to  correct  himself  when  he  finds  himself  in  error. 

Thirdly,  such  acquaintance  with  various  sides  is  a  potent  influ- 
ence against  what  is  recognized  as  a  deplorable  tendency  in  men 
of  every  profession,  the  tendency,  as  it  is  called,  to  "  talk  shop." 
By  this  is  meant  adhering  in  everything  only  to  the  narrow  and 
technical  dialect  of  one's  own  calling.  Many  a  clergyman  or  law- 
yer or  business  man  is  as  unapt  at  accommodating  his  mind  to 
what  lies  outside  of  his  narrow  beat  as  was  the  gardener  who 

1  See  Bulwer,  "  Hints  on  Mental  Culture,"  Caxtoniana,  Essay  X. 


230  APTITUDES  AND  HABITS. 

was  found  splitting  wood  with  a  spade.  To  such  men  the  whole 
world  has  only  a  theological  or  legal  or  mercantile  aspect ;  they 
must  "  talk  shop  "  if  they  "talk  at  all.  In  like  manner  the  literary 
man  may  fall  inadvertently  into  a  certain  formal  literary  dialect. 
He  needs  continually  to  seek  the  universal  vernacular,  to  com- 
mend himself  to  every  man  by  his  ability  to  express  truth  as  that 
man  would  fain  express  it,  with  the  added  wealth  of  his  broader 
and  deeper  culture. 

Test  of  Truth  at  First  Hand.  —  Mental  alertness  and  catholi- 
city of  interest,  good  in  themselves,  may  after  all  produce  a  mere 
luxuriance  of  grotesque  opinions,  without  the  wholesome  correc- 
tive, always  at  hand,  of  subjecting  all  discoveries  to  the  test  of  hard- 
headed  common  sense.  With  all  his  achievements  in  observation 
and  the  inferences  derived  therefrom,  the  writer  needs  to  cherish 
a  healthy  spirit  of  conservatism  and  caution,  returning  continually 
to  views  at  first  hand  and  to  the  plain  appearance  of  things,  so  as 
not  to  be  misled  by  hearsay,  or  by  a  specious  profundity,  or  by  an 
exuberant  fancy. 

NOTE.  —  A  good  illustration  of  what  is  here  inculcated  is  the  following 
anecdote  of  Webster  and  Choate,  related  by  E.  G.  Parker,  in  his  "  Golden 
Age  of  American  Oratory  "  :  — 

"  We  heard  Webster  once,  in  a  sentence  and  a  look,  crush  an  hour's  argu- 
ment of  the  curious  workman;  it  was  most  intellectually  wire-drawn  and  hair- 
splitting, with  Grecian  sophistry,  and  a  subtlety  the  Leontine  Gorgias  might 
have  envied.  It  was  about  two  car-wheels,  which  to  common  eyes  looked  as 
like  as  two  eggs;  but  Mr.  Choate,  by  a  fine  line  of  argument  between  tweedle-dum 
and  tweedle-dee,  and  a  discourse  on  the  '  fixation  of  points '  so  deep  and  fine 
as  to  lose  itself  in  obscurity,  showed  the  jury  there  was  a  heaven-wide  differ- 
ence between  them.  '  But,'  said  Mr.  Webster,  and  his  great  eyes  opened 
wide  and  black,  as  he  stared  at  the  big  twin  wheels  before  him,  '  Gentlemen 
of  the  jury,  there  they  are,  —  look  at  'em';  and  as  he  pronounced  this  answer, 
in  tones  of  vast  volume,  the  distorted  wheels  seemed  to  shrink  back  again 
into  their  original  similarity,  and  the  long  argument  on  the  '  fixation  of  points' 
died  a  natural  death." 

Let  us  notice  some  of  the  ways  in  which  this  habit  of  testing 
truth  at  first  hand  influences  the  writer  for  good. 


APTfl  UDES  AND  HABITS.  231 

In  the  first  place,  a  writer  habituated  to  common-sense  judg- 
ments is  kept  from  the  barren  pedantry  of  mere  bookishness.  He 
is  determined  to  see  things  for  himself  and  to  portray  as  he  sees ; 
and  this  spirit  of  honest  sincerity  aerates  his  learning,  and  gives 
his  work  the  natural  color.  "The  reason  why  so  few  good  books 
are  written,"  says  Walter  Bagehot,1  "  is  that  so  few  people  that  can 
write  know  anything.  In  general  an  author  has  always  lived  in  a 
room,  has  read  books,  has  cultivated  science,  is  acquainted  with 
the  style  and  sentiments  of  the  best  authors,  but  he  is  out  of  the 
way  of  employing  his  own  eyes  and  ears.  He  has  nothing  to  hear 
and  nothing  to  see.  His  life  is  a  vacuum.  .  . .  The  habits  best 
fitted  for  communicating  information,  formed  with  the  best  care, 
and  daily  regulated  by  the  best  motives,  are  exactly  the  habits 
which  are  likely  to  afford  a  man  the  least  information  to  com- 
municate. .  .  .  The  critic  in  the  '  Vicar  of  Wakefield'  lays  down 
that  you  should  always  say  that  the  picture  would  have  been  better 
if  the  painter  had  taken  more  pains ;  but  in  the  case  of  the  prac- 
tised literary  man,  you  should  often  enough  say  that  the  writings 
would  have  been  much  better  if  the  writer  had  taken  less  pains. 
He  says  he  has  devoted  his  life  to  the  subject  —  the  reply  is,  'Then 
you  have  taken  the  best  way  to  prevent  your  making  anything  of 
it.'  Instead  of  reading  studiously  what  Burgersdicius  and  ^Enoe- 
sidemus  said  men  were,  you  should  have  gone  out  yourself,  and 
seen  (if  you  can  see)  what  they  are." 

Secondly,  this  sober  common-sense  judgment  is  a  regulator  to 
the  writer's  constructive  faculty.  It  often  happens  that  an  imper- 
fectly balanced  mind,  once  awake  to  the  wealth  and  interest  of  its 
world,  finds  its  very  constructiveness  and  suggestiveness  a  snare. 
Ideas  are  adopted  and  maintained  not  so  much  because  they  are 
true  as  because  they  are  striking.  Observation  has  become  keen, 
but  it  has  not  been  subjected  to  its  necessary  corrective.  It  is 
important,  therefore,  to  form  the  habit  of  testing  truth  at  first  hand, 
as  a  rational  and  sobering  palliative  of  the  unruly  imagination  ;  not 
for  the  sake  of  less  vividness,  but  for  the  sake  of  more  and  solider 

1  Bagehot,  "  Literary  Studies,"  Vol.  I.  p.  137. 


232  APTITUDES  AND  HABITS. 

truth.  Such  a  habit  is  in  no  way  a  check  on  freedom  of  thought 
and  fancy  ;  it  supplies  rather  the  conservative  and  sincere  quality 
which  gives  the  work  permanent  value. 

II. 

Habits  of  Thought.  —  It  cannot  well  be  proposed  under  this 
head  to  enter  the  region  of  individual  abilities,  so  different  in  differ- 
ent men  ;  the  intention  is  rather  to  mention  certain  practical  habits 
of  thought  needed  by  every  writer,  whatever  the  peculiar  bent  of 
his  mind,  to  steady  and  invigorate  the  approaches  to  literary  com- 
position ;  habits  that,  far  from  eclipsing  any  mental  talent,  make 
all  the  writer's  gifts  more  assured  and  self-perfecting. 

The  Habit  of  seeking  Clearness.  —  First  both  in  order  and  in 
importance  is  to  be  named  the  habit  of  sternly  thinking  the  vague- 
ness and  obscurity  out  of  a  subject,  and  committing  one's  self  only 
to  what  can  be  made  plain.  The  sincere  writer  will  move  only  in 
the  region  where  his  vision  is  clear.  Of  course  not  all  subjects  are 
equally  susceptible  of  clearness;  there  are  some  in  which  the  thought 
itself  requires  a  special  sense  or  scholarship  to  comprehend.  But 
such  thought  finds  its  own  readers,  and  the  writer  who  can  wield  it 
finds  his  appointed  sphere.  But  inside  his  sphere,  whatever  it  is, 
he  has  a  duty,  to  use  terms  definitely,  unambiguously,  and  consis- 
tently, and  to  be  sure  the  thought  he  represents  is  such  as  he  can, 
to  his  own  mind  at  least,  work  out  into  a  lucid  presentation. 

Let  us  trace  some  of  the  good  effects  of  this  habit. 

In  the  first  place,  the  habit  of  seeking  clearness  keeps  the  writer 
from  being  content  with  hasty  or  ill-considered  work.  Many  a 
course  of  thought  has  imposed  on  both  author  and  reader  by  a  kind 
of  mysterious  obscurity,  wherein  some  indeterminate  idea,  very 
large  and  lofty,  seemed  involved  and  almost  revealed  ;  whereas, 
if  the  thought  were  relentlessly  analyzed,  it  would  prove  neither 
new  nor  remarkable.  Such  learned  obscurity  is  one  favorite  means 
of  literary  charlatanism.  There  is  vagueness,  also,  due  to  indo- 
lence ;  it  is  easier  to  set  down  a  thing  only  half  cleared  up  than  it 


APTITUDES  AND  HABITS.  233 

is  to  probe  it  sternly  to  the  bottom.  But  such  half-done  thinking 
cannot  be  sincere,  nor  can  it  be  permanent.  Writing  that  has  life 
has  a  conscience. 

Secondly,  the  habit  of  seeking  clearness  is  an  influence  to  keep 
the  writer  from  attacking  subjects  that  are  beyond  him.  This  is  a 
frequently  mentioned  tendency  of  young  writers.  Easily  carried 
away  by  the  surface-ideas  of  a  new  subject,  they  soon  find  them- 
selves committed  beyond  their  depth.  The  strenuous  resolve  to 
be  clear,  to  subject  every  thought  rigorously  to  the  test  of  intelligi- 
bility, will  do  much  to  keep  the  writer  within  his  own  sphere.  The 
note  appended  to  Milton's  unfinished  poem  on  The  Passion  is  a 
suggestive  indication  how  justly  he  estimated  his  own  youthful 
powers  :  "  This  Subject  the  Author  finding  to  be  above  the  years 
he  had  when  he  wrote  it,  and  nothing  satisfied  with  what  was  begun, 
left  it  unfinished." 

The  Habit  of  seeking  Order.  —  Closely  akin  to  the  foregoing  is 
the  habit  of  striking  for  the  central  and  nucleus  thoughts  of  a  sub- 
ject, round  which  whatever  is  subordinate  or  illustrative  may  range 
itself,  and  thus  lay  the  foundation  of  a  logical  plan. 

Plan  in  invention  begins  farther  back  than  the  individual  project. 
To  be  natural  and  unlabored  it  requires  a  formed  habit.  Let  the 
writer  train  his  mind  in  weighing  thoughts,  seeking  where  they 
begin  and  end,  how  they  are  grounded,  what  are  their  component 
parts  and  what  their  progress ;  and  the  work  of  planning  in  an 
individual  case  is  in  large  part  provided  for.  The  subject  strikes 
naturally  into  the  logical  order  and  proportion ;  the  plan  makes 
itself,  being  born  in  a  mind  that  can  tolerate  only  order  and 
system. 

This  and  the  previously  mentioned  habit,  once  thoroughly 
formed,  are  a  potent  influence  against  the  superficial  tendencies 
due  to  rapid  writing.  Rapid  composition  is  not  necessarily  shal- 
low, any  more  than  careful  and  labored  authorship  is  ipso  facto 
thorough.  Both  qualities  are  more  the  result  of  habit  than  of  the 
presence  or  lack  of  opportunity.  It  is  the  trained  intellect,  fitted 
to  approach  every  subject  in  an  orderly  and  keenly  analytic  way, 


234  APTITUDES  AND  HABITS. 

that  contributes  most  to  permanent  and  satisfying  work.  Let  this 
antecedent  culture  be  once  established,  and  the  desirable  virtue  of 
rapidity  is  an  easily  developed  ability,  while  its  evil  tendencies  are 
forestalled  and  avoided. 

The  Habit  of  seeking  Independent  Conclusions.  —  By  this  is 
meant  that  the  writer  should  rely  on  his  own  mind's  achievements 
rather  than  on  hearsay.  The  view  of  truth  that  he  adopts  should 
be  a  conviction  on  which  he  can  lean  his  whole  weight.  Of  course 
he  must  get  many  of  his  facts  from  what  others  have  written,  nor 
should  he  neglect  these ;  but  he  should  so  verify  them  in  experi- 
ence and  vivify  them  in  the  realizing  imagination  that  they  shall 
become  his  own  possession  and  represent  his  genuine  conviction. 
As  far  as  it  has  come  to  a  new  life  in  his  own  discovery,  so  far  let 
him  assert,  no  farther.  He  may  not  see  so  much,  nor  so  vividly, 
nor  so  comprehensively,  as  another ;  but  what  he  sees  he  sees 
independently.  And  this  is  truly  invention,  because  it  is  thought 
fused  anew  in  a  sincere  mind  ;  but  when  a  man  writes  beyond  the 
focus  of  his  real  vision,  he  is  only  an  echo  of  other  men's  asser- 
tions. 

Along  with  this  the  writer  needs  to  develop  confidence  in  his 
own  judgment  and  his  own  well-considered  conclusions.  This  is 
very  hard  for  young  writers.  They  are  too  timid  to  strike  out  for 
themselves,  and  are  argued  out  of  or  into  any  belief  by  the  last 
article  they  have  read.  A  fact  natural  enough,  perhaps,  and  a 
wholesome  bar  to  foolhardy  rashness  of  assertion.  But  it  is  to  be 
remembered  that  the  significance  of  one's  writing  at  all  lies  in  his 
reaching  some  new  landing-place  in  the  onward  sweep  of  thought. 
He  who  depends  on  manufacturing  a  patchwork  out  of  other 
men's  views  soon  becomes  so  at  the  mercy  of  others  that  he  has 
no  opinion  of  his  own ;  while  on  the  other  hand  he  who  has 
reached  most  confidence  in  the  well-tested  deliverances  of  his  own 
judgment  is  most  benefited  by  others'  ideas  as  well  as  most  satis- 
fying to  his  readers. 

Ability  to  hold  Judgments  in  Abeyance.  — The  merit  of  youth- 
ful writers  is  vigor  and  directness  ;  their  fault,  to  be  overcome  by 


APTITUDES  AND  HABITS.  235 

ripening  judgment,  is  rashness  and  one-sided  assertion.  To  such 
minds  it  is  peculiarly  painful  to  be  in  want  of  decision  or  of  defi- 
nite opinions  ;  it  seems  to  indicate  weakness  and  vacillation.  And 
of  course  there  is  an  excess  of  painful  incertitude  to  be  deprecated. 
But  there  are  many  things  that  will  not  bear  to  be  settled  by  snap- 
judgment  and  dismissed  as  if  the  last  word  were  said.  They  re- 
quire patience,  cautious  investigation,  stern  repression  of  hasty 
opinion,  determination  to  be  wary  of  first  appearances.  It  is  often 
a  real  strength  of  mind  and  true  moral  courage  to  hold  decisions 
in  abeyance,  to  confess  uncertainty,  to  acknowledge  how  slender 
are  the  grounds  for  a  conclusion. 

The  ripened  judgment  that  enables  one  to  tolerate  an  uncertain 
conclusion,  is  the  fruit  both  of  sound  culture  and  of  extended 
experience.  It  succeeds  the  heats  of  youth ;  and,  so  far  from 
being  inimical  to  vigor  and  directness,  it  leads,  rightly  developed, 
to  a  calmer  strength,  to  a  conviction  moving  when  it  moves  with 
the  momentum  of  depth  and  thoroughness. 

The  foregoing  considerations  will  serve  to  show  how  truly  the 
author's  career  is  made  up  not  only  of  endeavor  and  achievement, 
but  equally  of  travail  and  self-denial.  He  must  learn  repression 
as  well  as  expression.  And  his  only  basis  of  lasting  excellence  is 
the  recognition,  in  all  his  work,  that  the  instruction  of  men  through 
literature  imposes  a  solemn  responsibility,  demanding  the  best 
employment  of  all  that  he  can  become,  by  natural  endowments 
and  by  sound  discipline. 

III. 

Habits  of  Reading.  —  It  is  not  the  purpose  here  to  speak  of 
books  and  reading  in  general,  nor  yet  to  speak  directly  of  what  is 
called  "  reading  up  "  for  some  particular  literary  task ;  the  object 
is  rather  to  consider  habits  of  reading  as  an  aid  to  invention. 

Creative  Heading.  —  "  Reading,"  says  Burke,  "  and  much  read- 
ing, is  good.  But  the  power  of  diversifying  the  matter  infinitely 
in  your  own  mind,  and  of  applying  it  to  every  occasion  that  arises, 


236  APTITUDES  AND  HABITS. 

is  far  better."  To  be  an  aid  to  invention,  reading  must  be  con- 
ducted, according  to  the  suggestion  of  this  quotation,  in  the  atti- 
tude of  invention ;  that  is,  while  the  reader  is  receptive,  while  he 
is  being  acted  upon  by  what  he  is  reading,  he  is  at  the  same  time 
originative,  vigorously  acting  on  the  same  subject-matter,  shaping 
it  into  a  new  product,  according  to  the  color  and  capacity  of  his 
own  mind.  To  such  active  reading  may  be  given  the  name,  bor- 
rowed from  Emerson,  of  "  creative  reading."  Mr.  Emerson 
says  : l  — 

"  One  must  be  an  inventor  to  read  well.  As  the  proverb  says, 
'  He  that  would  bring  home  the  wealth  of  the  Indies,  must  carry 
out  the  wealth  of  the  Indies.'  There  is  then  creative  reading  as 
well  as  creative  writing.  When  the  mind  is  braced  by  labor  and 
invention,  the  page  of  whatever  book  we  read  becomes  luminous 
with  manifold  allusion.  Every  sentence  is  doubly  significant,  and 
the  sense  of  our  author  is  as  broad  as  the  world." 

The  habit  of  reading  creatively  is  what  distinguishes  the  scholar 
from  the  book-worm,  and  the  thinker  from  the  listless  absorber  of 
print.  It  is  the  increasing  predominance  of  this  latter  class  of 
readers  that  makes  the  present  enormous  multiplication  of  liter- 
ature a  doubtful  blessing.  Reading  can  easily  become  a  mental 
dissipation.  There  is  many  a  full  mind,  charged  to  the  brim 
with  printed  matter,  crammed  with  vast  stores  of  book-lore  ;  which 
mind,  nevertheless,  so  far  as  fruitful  thought  is  concerned,  is  worth- 
less, being  only  an  insatiable  absorber,  and  having  no  impulse  to 
creation.  Reading  may  be  carried  on  in  such  a  way  as  to  leave 
the  mind  inert  and  actually  deadened,  by  so  much  unassimilated 
knowledge.  Browning's  figure  describes  such  a  mind  well : 2  — 

"  For  I  say,  this  is  death  and  the  sole  death, 
When  a  man's  loss  comes  to  him  from  his  gain, 
Darkness  from  light,  from  knowledge  ignorance;  .  .  . 
A  lamp's  death  when,  replete  with  oil,  it  chokes; 
A  stomach's  when,  surcharged  with  food,  it  starves." 

1  Emerson,  Oration  on  "  The  American  Scholar." 

2  Browning,  "  A  Death  in  the  Desert." 


APTITUDES  AND  HABITS.  237 

In  view  of  this  fact,  it  is  of  the  first  importance  that  the  intended 
author  train  himself  thoroughly  in  the  attitude  of  reading,  so  as  to 
bring  to  it  habitually  the  active,  inventive  mind.  It  is  only  to 
such  a  mind  that  books  bring  true  blessing.  On  this  point  let 
Emerson  again  speak.  "  Books,"  he  says,1  "  are  the  best  of 
things,  well  used ;  abused,  among  the  worst.  What  is  the  right 
use  ?  What  is  the  one  end,  which  all  means  go  to  effect  ?  They 
are  for  nothing  but  to  inspire.  I  had  better  never  see  a  book, 
than  to  be  warped  by  its  attraction  clean  out  of  my  own  orbit,  and 
made  a  satellite  instead  of  a  system.  The  one  thing  in  the  world,  of 
value,  is  the  active  soul.  This  every  man  is  entitled  to  ;  this  every 
man  contains  within  him,  although,  in  almost  all  men,  obstructed, 
and  as  yet  unborn.  The  soul  active  sees  absolute  truth ;  and  utters 
truth,  or  creates.  In  this  action  it  is  genius  ;  not  the  privilege  of 
here  and  there  a  favorite,  but  the  sound  estate  of  every  man." 

Creative  reading,  as  thus  defined,  is  simply  mental  alertness 
applied  to  books,  and  set  in  the  direction  of  invention.  It  is  the 
scholar's  privilege  to  make  this  power  so  thoroughly  a  second 
nature  that  the  creative  attitude  may  invigorate  all  his  reading, 
however  rapidly  or  even  cursorily  it  may  be  carried  on,  or  for 
whatever  purpose. 

The  ways  in  which  the  writer  may  conduct  his  reading,  as  re- 
lated to  the  kind  of  matter  read  and  the  purpose  he  has  in  view, 
may  perhaps  be  best  suggested  by  a  well-known  passage  in  Bacon's 
essay  on  Studies.  "Some  Bookes,"  he  says,  "are  to  be  Tasted, 
Others  to  be  Swallowed,  and  Some  Few  to  be  Chewed  and  Digest- 
ed :  That  is,  some  Bookes  are  to  be  read  onely  in  Parts ;  Others  to 
be  read  but  not  Curiously ;  And  some  Few  to  be  read  wholly,  and 
with  Diligence  and  Attention." 

These  different  ways  of  reading  require  some  discussion  and 
application ;  accordingly  they  will  be  taken  up  individually,  but  in 
inverse  order. 

1.  Disciplinary  Reading. — This  designation  may  be  applied, 
for  the  inventor's  sake,  to  the  reading  of  "some  few  books,"  which 

1  Emerson,  Oration  on  "  The  American  Scholar." 


238  APTITUDES  AND  HABITS. 

are  "  to  be  chewed  and  digested,  that  is,  read  wholly,  and  with 
diligence  and  attention." 

How  may  I  acquire  the  ability  to  read  creatively?  is  a  question 
naturally  suggested  by  the  foregoing  paragraphs  ;  and  this  habit  of 
disciplinary  reading  is  inculcated  first,  because  it  contains  the 
answer  to  the  question.  The  surest  and  directest  way  to  arouse 
the  inventive  impulse  in  reading  is  the  way  of  simple  interpreta- 
tion. That  is,  the  writer  should  train  himself  to  read  thoroughly, 
patiently,  repeatedly,  resolving  allusions,  following  out  hints  and 
suggestions,  tracing  thought  and  sentiment,  as  the  phrase  is,  "be- 
tween the  lines  "  ;  until  he  is  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  power 
and  spirit  of  the  work.  By  such  minute  interpretation  a  great 
creative  mind  is  followed  through  the  paths  and  by-paths  of  his 
invention ;  and  the  mind  that  follows  is  in  some  degree  stimulated 
and  skilled  to  take  such  steps  for  itself.  The  complete  study, 
in  this  way,  of  one  or  two  masterpieces  of  literature,  provided 
they  are  well  chosen,  is  an  invaluable  aid  to  literary  creativeness. 
It  not  only  gives  the  student  a  store  of  valuable  thought,  but  bends 
his  mind  to  a  habit  and  flow  of  thinking ;  so  that,  without  being 
an  imitator,  he  is  refined  and  toned  up  to  the  companionship  of  a 
master. 

In  order  to  make  such  reading  an  effective  discipline,  it  is  well 
for  the  student  to  have  at  hand  some  great  work  of  literature,  to 
which  he  may  give  a  little  thorough  and  minute  study  every  day. 
Let  him  study  this  work  over  and  over  again,  sometimes  slowly, 
sometimes  rapidly,  now  with  special  attention  to  one  aspect  of  it, 
again  with  special  attention  to  another ;  until  it  has  become  fully 
inwoven  with  the  fibre  of  his  mind.  To  keep  such  discipline  as 
this  continually  going,  even  though  only  a  little  at  a  time,  is  a  valu- 
able influence  to  keep  the  mind  from  being  dissipated  on  many  things 
or  becoming  flippant  and  shallow  through  superficial  reading.  It 
is  the  means  by  which  the  student's  mental  powers  maintain  their 
tone  and  grasp. 

Of  course  not  all  books  can  or  should  be  read  in  this  manner. 
It  is  only  "  some  few  books,"  the  masterpieces  of  original  inven- 


APTITUDES  AND  HABITS.  239 

tion,  such  as  do  not  yield  their  whole  secret  at  the  first  perusal, 
that  will  really  bear  such  treatment.  In  this  class  may  be 
instanced  the  works  of  Shakespeare,  Bacon,  Milton,  Wordsworth, 
Browning,  all  of  which  reveal  new  depths  at  each  new  perusal ; 
also  the  Greek  and  Latin  classics,  which  in  addition  to  their  intrin- 
sic worth,  compel  the  student  to  slower  and  carefuller  work  by  the 
necessity  of  translation.  For  the  value  of  translation  in  itself,  as  a 
means  of  mental  discipline,  see  below,  page  320.  Much  of  the 
effectiveness  of  such  disciplinary  reading  depends  on  its  regular- 
ity. Naturally  only  a  limited  proportion  of  the  student's  time  is 
available  for  it ;  but  a  little,  conscientiously  devoted  each  day,  will 
give  his  mind  tone  and  scholarliness,  and  the  results  in  the  long 
run  will  count  up  surprisingly. 

A  book  that  has  once  set  the  scholar's  mind  in  vigorous  inven- 
tive action  retains  its  power  to  stimulate,  and  may  at  any  time 
revive  the  influence  it  once  exerted.  Accordingly,  it  has  always 
been  a  very  prevalent  custom  of  the  great  masters  of  literature  to 
keep  at  hand  their  favorite  authors,  to  read  as  an  immediate  stim- 
ulus to  and  preparation  for  their  own  literary  tasks. 

NOTE.  —  "  Let  it  be  added,"  says  Professor  Austin  Phelps, "  that  the  method 
in  question  is  supported  by  the  practice  of  many  eminent  authors.  Voltaire 
used  to  read  Massillon  as  a  stimulus  to  production.  Bossuet  read  Homer  for 
the  same  purpose.  Gray  read  Spenser's  '  Faerie  Queene  '  as  the  preliminary  to 
the  use  of  his  pen.  The  favorites  of  Milton  were  Homer  and  Euripides. 
Fenelon  resorted  to  the  ancient  classics  promiscuously.  Pope  read  Dryden  as 
his  habitual  aid  to  composing.  Corneille  read  Tacitus  and  Livy.  Clarendon 
did  the  same.  Sir  William  Jones,  on  his  passage  to  India,  planned  five  differ- 
ent volumes,  and  assigned  to  each  the  author  he  resolved  to  read  as  a  guide 
and  an  awakener  to  his  own  mind  for  its  work.  Buffon  made  the  same  use  of 
the  works  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton.  With  great  variety  of  tastes,  successful 
authors  have  generally  agreed  in  availing  themselves  of  this  natural  and  facile 
method  of  educating  their  minds  to  the  work  of  original  creation." 

2.  Rapid  Reading.  —  Every  writer  must  do  much  rapid  read- 
ing ;  for  a  great  proportion  of  the  books  that  he  has  to  consult 
are  books  that  are  "  to  be  swallowed,  —  that  is,  read  but  not  curi- 


240  APTITUDES  AND  HABITS. 

ously."  Books  that  require  such  treatment  are,  in  general,  such 
as  give  broad  and  compendious  information,  as  popular  treatises 
in  history,  science,  philosophy ;  also,  works  of  fiction,  travels, 
descriptive  works,  and  the  like.  Books  of  this  kind,  used  in  the 
right  proportion,  supply  a  very  important  element  in  the  scholar's 
culture ;  they  lay  the  broad  basis  for  more  minute  investigation 
afterwards,  give  the  general  setting  of  information  or  thought  that 
enables  him  to  estimate  rightly  the  significance  and  relation  of 
particular  points.  A  general  survey  of  a  subject  is  as  indispensable 
as  a  minute  knowledge  ;  and  this  it  is  that  such  books  supply. 

The  important  question  regarding  such  rapid  reading  is,  How 
to  be  so  cultured  as  to  do  it  with  most  profit  ?  It  is  obvious  that 
to  gain  real  benefit  from  a  rapid  perusal  requires  a  mind  especially 
endowed  with  alertness,  incisiveness,  and  grasp.  Whatever  devel- 
ops these  qualities,  then,  is  the  true  preparation  for  the  ability  to 
gain  a  rapid  knowledge  of  books. 

And  indeed  there  is  nothing  so  potent  to  this  end  as  what  has 
been  already  recommended,  —  a  previous  thorough  training  in 
disciplinary  reading.  He  who  by  patient  interpretation  of  literary 
masterpieces  has  acquired  a  quick  eye  for  minute  suggestions  can 
readily  find  what  will  serve  him  in  a  rapid  survey.  His  creative 
faculty  has  become  awake  and  keen,  and  the  activity  of  thought 
thus  developed  enables  him  to  arrest  and  assimilate  what  he  needs. 
Like  is  attracted  to  like.  Hunger  for  knowledge  of  any  kind  is 
quick  to  grasp  the  knowledge  wherever  found.  It  is  eminently 
true  of  the  reader,  as  it  is  of  others,  that  "  whosoever  hath,  to  him 
shall  be  given." 

3.  Reading  by  Topics.  —  It  is  equally  necessary,  for  the  writer 
who  has  to  investigate,  to  consult  many  books  more  rapidly  still, 
discarding  all  but  the  small  portion  in  immediate  demand  for  his 
purpose ;  books  that  are  "  to  be  tasted,  —  that  is,  read  only  in 
parts."  The  books  that  require  such  consultation  are  works  of 
exhaustive  research,  special  treatises,  reports,  documents,  and  the 
like  ;  works  that  may  be  regarded  as  the  original  sources  of  mi- 
nute and  thorough  information. 


APTITUDES  AND  HABITS.  241 

Such  repositories  of  information  it  would  often  be  a  positive  dis- 
advantage, to  say  nothing  of  the  labor,  to  read  through.  Their 
subject-matter  is  in  too  diffuse  and  cumbrous  form  for  that.  They 
contain  materials  for  literature,  not  literature  itself.  They  are 
therefore  merely  to  be  interrogated  on  those  particular  points 
which  in  other  reading  have  revealed  themselves  as  in  need  of 
greater  fulness  and  corroboration.  The  art  of  reading  by  topics  is 
the  art  of  thus  consulting  a  book,  of  striking  at  the  cardinal  points 
and  letting  what  is  merely  illustrative  and  amplifying  go.  This 
requires  sharp  and  quick  discrimination  between  principal  and 
subordinate  elements,  and  the  ability  to  group  detached  thoughts 
readily  into  system.  The  consulter  acquires  by  practice  a  kind  of 
instinct,  which  enables  him  at  a  glance  to  separate  out  what  he 
needs.  By  this  means  a  book  may  often  be  read  largely  by  its 
table  of  contents  and  chapter-headings ;  while  the  one  main  or 
minor  point  that  gives  the  consultation  present  significance  is 
unerringly  detected  and  retained.  In  the  same  way  the  ability  to 
use  a  whole  library,  to  accumulate  rapid  information  from  a  large 
number  of  books,  becomes  easy.  It  all  rises  from  the  habit  of 
ready  and  accurate  analysis,  vigorous  interpretation  of  what  one 
reads. 

A  natural  and  very  useful  accompaniment  of  such  rapid  reading 
is  the  acquirement  of  interest  in  details  of  bibliography,  and  in 
catalogues,  prefaces,  and  the  like.  The  dryest  of  matters  for  the 
unscholarly,  such  details  as  these  become  among  the  most  fasci- 
nating for  him  who  gets  to  feel  thoroughly  at  home  among  books. 
By  such  means  the  reader  acquires  almost  insensibly  a  store  of 
practical  knowledge  ;  he  learns  where  information  is  to  be  found, 
what  form  it  is  in,  and  who  are  the  authorities  in  any  department 
of  learning. 

NOTE.  —  The  following  incident,  from  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson,  illustrates 
the  feeling  of  the  scholarly  man  regarding  such  knowledge  of  books. 

"  No  sooner  had  we  made  our  bow  to  Mr.  Cambridge,  in  his  library,  than 
Johnson  ran  eagerly  to  one  side  of  the  room,  intent  on  poring  over  the  backs 
of  the  books.  Sir  Joshua  observed,  aside,  '  He  runs  to  the  books  as  I  do  to 


242  APTITUDES  AND  HABITS. 

the  pictures;  but  I  have  the  advantage.  I  can  see  much  more  of  the  pictures 
than  he  can  of  the  books.'  Mr.  Cambridge,  upon  this,  politely  said,  '  Dr. 
Johnson,  I  am  going,  with  your  pardon,  to  accuse  myself,  for  I  have  the  same 
custom  which  I  perceive  you  have.  But  it  seems  odd  that  one  should  have 
such  a  desire  to  look  at  the  backs  of  books.'  Johnson,  ever  ready  for  contest, 
instantly  started  from  his  reverie,  wheeled  about  and  answered,  '  Sir,  the  rea- 
son is  very  plain.  Knowledge  is  of  two  kinds.  We  know  a  subject  ourselves, 
or  we  know  where  we  can  find  information  upon  it.  When  we  inquire  into 
any  subject,  the  first  thing  we  have  to  do  is  to  know  what  books  have  treated 
of  it.  This  leads  us  to  look  at  catalogues,  and  the  backs  of  books  in  libra- 


Along  with  topical  reading,  the  taking  of  notes  is  of  course 
indispensable.  The  manner  of  doing  this,  and  the  copiousness 
of  the  notes  taken,  must  be  left  to  the  individual  writer.  This, 
however,  ought  to  be  said  :  notes  too  often  fail  of  permanent  value 
through  being  too  carelessly  and  indefinitely  taken ;  when  they 
are  mere  catch-words  and  fleeting  hints  they  soon  fail  to  call  up 
the  associations  and  connections  that  gave  them  their  first  useful- 
ness. Even  hastily  taken  notes  should  never  be  exempted  from 
care  as  to  style ;  the  writer  should  make  them  express  complete 
thoughts,  sufficient  to  be  understood  at  any  time  afterward,  with- 
out need  of  help  from  remembered  associations. 

Commonplace-books,  indices  rerum,  and  scrap-books  are  of 
variable  usefulness,  according  to  the  character  of  the  reader's 
mind,  and  his  faithfulness  in  keeping  them  up.  The  fact  that  the 
great  majority  of  such  undertakings  are  soon  discontinued  is  not 
necessarily  a  reproach ;  it  may  merely  indicate  that  the  reader's 
inventive  talent  does  not  adapt  itself  so  readily  to  the  storing  of 
knowledge  as  to  the  immediate  and  vigorous  use  of  it.  A  more 
prevalent  reason  for  such  abortive  attempts  is  the  fact  that  they 
are  allowed  to  supersede  the  active  exercise  of  the  mind  on  the 
topics  accumulated,  and  thus  become  mere  repositories  of  dead 
facts.  It  is  the  making  of  them  that  is  of  special  value,  even 
more  than  the  possession  of  them  when  made ;  much  depends, 
therefore,  on  the  reader's  being  constantly  en  rapport  with  them, 
increasing  their  stores  and  fertilizing  them  with  his  own  thought. 


APTITUDES  AND  HABITS.  243 

To  this  end  the  material  introduced  into  them  should  be  special ; 
that  is,  not  compendious  or  generalized  rudiments  of  knowledge 
in  any  department,  which  are  soon  outgrown,  but  contributions 
to  particular  aspects  or  illustrations  of  the  departments  of  knowl- 
edge with  which  the  student  is  already  in  a  general  way  ac- 
quainted. 

4.  Reading  more  broadly  and  deeply  than  the  Immediate 
Occasion  demands. — This  is  a  matter  of  especial  importance 
when  the  author  is  so  situated  that  he  must  write  statedly  and  fre- 
quently. Too  many  in  such  case  read,  so  to  say,  merely  from 
hand  to  mouth,  —  that  is,  only  so  far  as  is  needed  for  immediate 
reproduction.  This  custom  is  narrowing,  fatal  to  originality,  and 
precludes  improvement.  By  reading  always  broadly  and  deeply, 
the  writer  masters  not  only  his  immediate  subject,  but  such  an 
ample  sphere  of  thought  and  fact  as  contains  the  material  and 
suggestion  of  many  allied  subjects. 

This  comprehensive  method  of  reading  is  valuable  on  two 
principal  accounts. 

First,  the  immediate  subject  is  better  understood  and  more 
satisfactorily  presented  when  in  the  work  of  investigation  its  whole 
department  of  thought,  with  its  limits  and  relations,  has  been 
studied.  Although  only  one  small  aspect  may  be  given,  what  is 
presented  takes  a  depth  and  a  color  due  to  the  writer's  greater 
knowledge  of  its  connexions  with  more  comprehensive  thought. 

Secondly,  by  reading  beyond  and  below  each  subject  the  writer 
stores  and  stimulates  his  mind  for  future  work.  He  is  taking 
measures  to  maintain  a  reserve  of  resources.  There  is  thus  no 
danger  of  his  writing  himself  out,  because  the  fountain,  though 
drawn  from  continually,  is  kept  full  by  the  very  preparation  for 
drawing ;  while  the  depth  and  quality  of  his  knowledge  improves 
steadily  with  use.  His  literary  work  is  thus  made  a  liberal  educa- 
tion. 

When  the  writer  must  be  frequently  ready  with  some  literary 
production,  it  is  of  great  advantage  for  him  to  cultivate  the  ability 
to  keep  several  definite  topics  of  meditation  rounding  and  ripen- 


244  APTITUDES  AND  HABITS. 

ing  in  his  mind  at  once.  Such  ability  may  easily  become  a  fixed 
and  spontaneous  habit,  which  will  endow  his  whole  sphere  of  obser- 
vation with  greatly  increased  significance.  Whatever  he  reads, 
even  casually,  is  almost  sure  to  contain  something  that  either 
clusters  round  some  nucleus  of  thought  already  in  his  mind,  or,  no 
less  frequently,  establishes  a  new  thought  centre  therein. 


ORDERING    OF  MATERIAL.  245 


CHAPTER   II. 

GENERAL  PROCESSES  IN  THE  ORDERING  OF  MATERIAL. 

As  has  already  been  shown,  it  is  almost  exclusively  the  ordering 
of  material,  the  sifting  of  it  mainly  as  involved  in  the  ordering, 
and  hardly  at  all  the  actual  finding  of  it,  that  a  treatise  on  inven- 
tion can  discuss  with  hope  of  imparting  direct  practical  aid.  All 
the  rest  must  be  left  to  the  writer's  individual  genius.  On  the 
discussion  of  this  accessible  stage  of  invention  we  now  enter ;  and 
first  of  all  by  considering,  as  the  task  of  the  present  chapter,  the 
processes  included  in  the  general  construction  of  discourse,  pro- 
cesses common,  therefore,  with  certain  modifications,  to  all  literary 
forms. 

The  Order  of  Discourse  not  Arbitrary. — That  is,  it  is  not  de- 
termined by  the  mere  willfulness  of  the  writer's  constructive  fancy, 
but  rather  by  the  nature  of  the  material,  as  interpreted  by  the 
exactions  of  present  adaptedness.  The  writer's  whole  quest  is  to 
find  the  simple  and  natural  progress  of  the  thought,  from  begin- 
ning to  culmination,  to  follow  that  one  order  which  answers  best 
to  what  has  been  well  called  "  the  self-movement  of  the  subject." 

A  self-evident  ideal  this;  and  yet  there  are  tendencies,  not 
uncommon  among  authors,  which  make  against  it. 

i.  Unless  the  writer  takes  especial  care  to  diversify  his  inven- 
tive methods,  there  is  a  strong  tendency  after  some  experience  to 
run  into  a  certain  stereotyped  way  of  planning  every  subject; 
exemplified  by  the  clergyman  who  said  he  always  made  his  ser- 
mons consist  of  "two  points  and  an  application."  This  is  evi- 
dently an  unconscious  surrender  to  the  tyranny  of  a  mental  habit ; 
and  the  result  is  that  the  writer  does  not  submit  implicitly  to  the 
guidance  of  his  subject,  but  seeks  to  manipulate  the  thought  by  a 
preconceived  scheme  devised  and  imposed  from  without,  Not 


246  ORDERING    OF  MA  TERIAL. 

always  so  undisguised  as  this,  the  same  tendency  may  manifest 
itself  in  a  craving  after  an  equal  number  of  subdivisions  under 
each  main  heading,  or  after  some  mechanical  symmetry  between 
part  and  part  of  the  plan.  But  however  manifested,  it  is  some- 
thing against  which  the  writer  needs  to  be  so  on  his  guard  as  to 
distrust  any  structure  not  obviously  dictated,  or  at  least  made 
natural,  by  the  suggestion  of  the  subject. 

NOTE.  —  There  have  been  periods  in  the  history  of  literature  when  such 
artificial  methods  prevailed  as  a  vogue;  as  when  old  divines  would  in  their 
discourses  adopt  a  three-fold  division,  because  there  are  three  persons  in  the 
Trinity,  or  four-fold  because  there  are  four  elements  of  matter,  or  seven-fold 
because  seven  is  the  perfect  sacred  number.  Herodotus  divided  his  history 
into  nine  books,  which  he  named  after  the  nine  muses;  and  Goethe  followed 
his  example  in  the  nine  cantos  of  his  "  Hermann  and  Dorothea."  The  nota- 
tion of  these  works  is  of  course  arbitrary ;  though  the  division  may  have  corre- 
sponded with  the  natural  articulation  of  the  subject,  and  been  named  thus  as 
an  afterthought.  The  arbitrary  rule  that  tragedy  must  invariably  have  five 
acts,  — 

"  Neve  minor,  neu  sit  quinto  productior  actu 
Fabula  "  — 

may  have  its  rationale  in  the  natural  rise,  culmination,  and  denouement  of  a 
plot.  So  also  in  every  plan  there  are  steps  that,  being  founded  in  the  nature 
of  a  course  of  thinking,  are  too  organic  for  arbitrariness. 

2.  A  writer's  mental  activities  may  be  naturally  abstruse,  or 
made  so  by  exclusive  working  in  profound  subjects ;  again  a 
writer's  mind  may  be  impelled  by  nature  to  move  in  odd  and 
eccentric  sequences  of  thought.  The  latter  may  perhaps  indulge 
his  propensities  in  humorous  writing;  but  apart  from  the  ac- 
knowledged privileges  of  this  kind  of  composition,  the  writei 
should  be  conscientious  in  comparing  his  own  mind's  habitual 
working  with  the  capacities  and  tendencies  of  ordinary  men. 
Accordingly,  he  should  consult  not  himself  alone  but  more  espe- 
cially his  readers,  seeking  always  if  there  may  be  discerned  a  self- 
movement  of  the  subject  along  the  lines  most  easily  followed  by 
them.  Not  all  subjects  are  capable  of  a  simple  plan ;  but  in  all 
cases  the  writer  should  work  for  the  utmost  simplicity  possible  for 


ORDERING   OF  MATERIAL.  247 

the  adequate  presentation  of  his  subject,  and  be  ready  to  deny  his 
personal  preferences,  if  necessary,  for  his  readers'  sake. 

NOTE.  —  The  poet  Browning  has  often  been  reproached  as  ordering  his 
thought  in  willfully  abstruse  sequences.  Not  willfully,  as  he  has  himself 
avowed;  but  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  sometimes  the  intricate  dodgings 
and  windings  of  his  thought  are  needlessly  difficult  for  readers,  even  when 
allowance  is  made  for  the  exceptionally  profound  nature  of  his  subject-matter. 
He  has  been  confessedly  too  unmindful  of  the  art  that  seeks  to  make  thought 
plain  and  pleasant  for  ordinary  capacities. 

Of  the  eccentrically  working  mind  the  humorist  Charles  F.  Browne  ("  Arte- 
mus  Ward  ")  may  be  mentioned  as  a  remarkable  example.  It  is  said  that  no 
idea  ever  presented  itself  to  him  as  it  would  to  any  other  person;  he  could 
see  only  the  ludicrous  side  of  things;  and  the  prevailing  principle  of  his 
humor  lies  in  odd  and  quaintly  twisted  sequences  of  thought. 

The  Unit  of  Structure.  —  In  a  preceding  section  the  para- 
graph has  been  named  as  the  unit  of  invention.  By  this  is  meant 
that  in  the  proper  construction  of  a  paragraph  there  are  suggested 
in  miniature  the  main  problems  involved  in  the  construction  of  an 
entire  discourse.  And  indeed  there  is  one  case,  the  editorial 
paragraph,  wherein  this  smallest  section  of  discourse  has  come  to 
be  recognized  as  a  distinct  literary  form,  a  discourse  in  itself. 

Referring  then  to  the  section  on  The  Paragraph,  and  especially 
to  the  scheme  of  paragraph  structure  laid  down  on  page  199, 
we  see  that  a  paragraph  must  have  a  subject,  a  plan,  a  proportion 
of  parts ;  that  its  progress  must  be  obvious  and  continuous  from 
one  part  to  another ;  that,  beginning  with  what  explains  its  topic, 
it  moves  on  to  what  establishes,  by  proof  or  otherwise,  and  finally 
to  what  applies  and  gives  results.  In  every  production,  whatever 
its  form  or  scope,  this  unit  of  structure  may  be  traced,  modified  of 
course  by  particular  requirements,  and  with  its  elements  in  vary- 
ing proportions,  but  easily  recognizable  when  the  circumstances  of 
writing  and  the  nature  of  the  subject-matter  are  taken  into  con- 
sideration. 

The  Form  of  Discourse  here  chosen  as  Norm.  —  By  reason  of 
its  brevity  no  single  paragraph  would  be  likely  to  represent  all 
the  elements  of  structure  in  the  typical  fullness  desirable  for  study. 


248  THE  THEME. 

Some  would  be  merely  suggested  rather  than  expressed,  while 
others  would  perhaps  be  elided  altogether. 

A  form  better  adapted  to  this  purpose  is  found  in  the  essay  or 
short  treatise,  as  it  appears  in  the  best  review  articles  of  the  day. 
Apart  from  its  convenient  length,  which  makes  it  easy  to  trace  the 
relation  of  its  parts  to  one  another  and  to  the  whole  idea,  the 
essay  presents  the  most  normal  and  rounded  type  of  structure, 
because,  being  more  purely  a  work  of  the  intellect,  it  depends 
more  entirely  on  the  writer's  constructive  powers.  This  we  see 
by  comparing  various  literary  forms.  In  a  narrative,  for  instance, 
the  plan  is  guided  mainly  by  the  order  of  time ;  in  a  description 
by  the  order  of  place ;  argument  follows  the  logical  necessities  of 
the  proof;  oratory  modifies  the  logical  order  more  or  less  by  the 
emotional.  The  essay,  which  belongs  predominantly  to  the  ex- 
pository form  (see  below,  page  403),  presents  a  more  purely 
intellectual  product,  built  according  to  the  laws  that  control  the 
constructive  powers  of  the  mind ;  it  is  here  chosen,  therefore,  as 
uniting  in  one  production  normal  structure  and  convenient  limits. 

The  general  processes  included  in  the  ordering  of  material  may 
be  grouped  under  three  sections :  on  the  determination  of  the 
theme ;  on  the  construction  of  the  plan ;  and  on  amplification, 


SECTION   FIRST. 
DETERMINATION  OF  THE  THEME. 

Definition.  —  The  theme,  which  in  some  form  underlies  the 
structure  of  every  literary  work,  may  be  briefly  defined  as  the 
working-idea  of  the  discourse. 

The  fundamental  requirement  of  the  theme  is  sufficiently  indi- 
cated in  the  derivation  of  the  word,  from  the  Greek  Oep.a  (riB^fjn), 
something  placed  or  laid  down,  that  is,  as  a  basis  for  treatment. 
As  such  a  working-basis,  the  theme  must  be  an  idea  so  definite 
and  clear-cut  that  the  writer  can  resort  to  it  for  every  step  of  his 


THE  THEME.  249 

work.  It  is  that  nucleus-thought,  expressed  or  implicit,  which 
must  be  in  his  mind  as  a  central  point  of  reference,  a  constant 
determinator  and  suggester  of  the  scope  and  limits  of  his  subject. 
It  is  thus  the  germ  of  the  whole  work,  the  sum  of  the  thought 
reduced  to  its  briefest  and  most  condensed  statement. 

Obviously,  if  the  theme  is  an  element  from  which  so  much  is  to 
be  evolved,  accurate  and  minute  care  is  imperative  in  the  first 
place  regarding  what  is  to  be  Evolved  in  it.  And  indeed  this  is 
what  makes  the  determination  of  the  theme  the  most  important 
single  step  in  the  ordering  of  material ;  for,  being  the  process  of 
concentrating  the  whole  thought  into  unity  and  shapeliness  of  idea, 
it  compels  a  thorough  meditation,  analysis,  and  test  of  all  its  main 
features.  By  the  time  the  working-idea  is  accurately  determined 
the  material  of  the  discourse  is  easily  in  the  writer's  control. 

The  theme  of  a  discourse  is  not  synonymous  with  the  subject. 
It  is  necessary  here,  therefore,  before  examples  are  adduced,  to 
discriminate  the  two. 

The  Theme  as  related  to  the  Subject.  —  The  subject  is  the 
general  or  class-idea  on  which  the  production  is  based,  the  most 
unrestricted  answer  to  the  question,  What  shall  I  write  about? 
Thus,  for  example,  one  may  write  about  the  Anglo-Saxons,  or  about 
Self-Reliance,  or  about  Free  Trade,  or  about  Modern  Fiction; 
these  are  subjects.  Evidently  such  subjects  as  these,  as  they 
exist  unmodified,  are  too  comprehensive,  too  general,  for  treat- 
ment. They  contain  no  hint  of  one  kind  of  treatment  more  than 
another ;  no  indication  of  fitness  to  place,  public,  or  form  of  dis- 
course ;  no  suggestion  of  limits  or  direction.  It  is  clear  that  they 
are  not  as  yet  in  shape  to  guide  the  writer  as  his  working-idea. 

Having  chosen  or  received  such  a  subject  as  the  above,  the 
writer's  first  natural  question,  How  shall  I  treat  this  subject?  leads, 
as  the  initial  step  of  invention,  to  the  deduction  of  a  theme ;  that 
is,  his  first  impulse  is  to  re-state  the  subject  in  a  practical  form  for 
use.  Thus,  for  example,  the  first  of  the  above-named  subjects 
suggests  naturally  a  treatment  that  merely  gives  information ; 
further,  if  the  form  is  to  be  an  essay  instead  of  a  volume,  the  sub- 


250  THE  THEME. 

ject  covers  too  much  ground ;  it  should  be  regarded  in  one 
limited  aspect ;  so  it  becomes,  we  will  say,  Domestic  Life  of  the 
Anglo-Saxons,  or,  National  Traits  of  the  Anglo-Saxons.  For  the 
second  subject  a  hortatory  treatment  would  be  natural;  so  it 
becomes,  Incitement  to  Self- Reliance,  or,  How  Self- Reliance  en- 
riches Character.  The  third  may  be  viewed  as  an  issue,  to  be 
decided,  affirmatively  or  negatively,  by  argument ;  so  broad  also 
that  it  needs  to  be  narrowed  to  a  particular  application ;  so  per- 
haps it  becomes,  Considerations  for  (or  against)  the  Adoption  of  a 
Free-Trade  Policy  by  the  American  People.  The  fourth  suggests 
naturally  a  critical  exposition ;  so  it  becomes,  The  Methods  and 
the  Spirit  of  Modern  Fiction. 

From  this  it  appears  that  the  theme  is  the  subject  concentrated, 
by  means  of  directive  limitations,  upon  a  single  issue,  so  that  it 
shall  contain  one  principle  of  division,  one  definite  indication  of 
treatment,  one  suggestion  of  scope  and  limits.  Observe,  then, 
the  theme  is  not  a  part  of  the  subject;  it  is  the  whole  subject 
turned  in  a  certain  determinate  direction.  The  whole  subject  is 
acting  through  the  theme  ;  but  its  action  is  defined  and  regulated 
to  suit  the  circumstances  of  the  present  writing. 

NOTE.  —  The  necessity  of  following  the  suggestion  of  a  theme  instead  of 
writing  random  thoughts  on  a  general  subject  is  exemplified  in  the  following 
passage,  by  Cardinal  Newman.  It  occurs  in  a  lecture  of  his  on  "  Elementary 
Studies,"  and  takes  the  form  of  remarks  on  an  imaginary  thesis  written  by  a 
young  candidate  for  admission  to  the  University.  It  will  be  noticed  that 
what  he  calls  by  the  popular  designation  the  subject  —  "  Fortes  Fortuna  Adju- 
vat"  —  is  rather  what  we  are  here  denning  as  the  theme,  while  the  subject, 
which  the  young  man  persists  in  treating  as  unrestricted,  is  more  truly  expressed 
by  "  Fortuna." 

" '  Now  look  here,'  he  (the  critic,  a  supposed  Mr.  Black)  says,  '  the  subject 
is  "Fortes  fortuna  adjuvat";  now  this  is  a  proposition ;  it  states  a  certain 
general  principle,  and  this  is  just  what  an  ordinary  boy  would  be  sure  to  miss, 
and  Robert  does  miss  it.  He  goes  off  at  once  on  the  word  "  fortuna."  "  For- 
tuna" was  not  his  subject;  the  thesis  was  intended  to  guide  him  for  his  own 
good;  he  refuses  to  be  put  into  leading  strings;  he  breaks  loose,  and  runs  off 
in  his  own  fashion  on  the  broad  field  and  in  wild  chase  of  "  fortune,"  instead 
of  closing  with  a  subject,  which,  as  being  definite,  would  have  supported  him. 


THE  THEME.  251 

"  '  It  would  have  been  very  cruel  to  have  told  a  boy  to  write  on  "fortune"; 
it  would  have  been  like  asking  him  hio  opinion  of  "  things  in  general."  For- 
tune is  "  good,"  "  bad,"  "  capricious,"  "  unexpected,"  ten  thousand  things  all 
at  once  (you  see  them  all  in  the  Gradus),  and  ^ne  of  them  as  much  as  the 
other.  Ten  thousand  things  may  be  said  of  it :  give  me  one  of  them,  and  I 
will  write  upon  it;  I  cannot  write  on  more  than  one;  Robert  prefers  to  write 
upon  all. 

"'"Fortune  favors  the  bold;"  here  is  a  very  definite  subject:  take  hold  of 
it,  and  it  will  steady  and  lead  you  on :  you  will  know  in  what  direction  to 
look.' " 

Deduction  of  Theme  from  S  bject.  —  This,  in  any  given  case, 
must  of  course  be  left  to  the  writer's  tact  and  natural  suggestive 
faculty.  A  few  general  directions  may,  however,  be  of  service. 

i .  Obviously  the  same  general  subject,  being  capable  of  many 
applications,  may  contain  an  indefinite  number  of  themes  or  work- 
ing-ideas. What  particular  direction  shall  be  given  to  the  subject 
in  the  individual  case  is  determined  for  the  most  part  by  the 
writer's  view  of  what  needs  to  be  said  and  what  he  can  best  say ; 
but  also  largely  by  present  circumstances,  as,  for  instance,  how  the 
subject  has  been  treated  before,  for  whom  it  is  intended  now,  and 
what  are  the  exactions  of  time,  place,  and  form  of  discourse. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  following  aspects  of  the  general  subject  "  Literature " 
are  selected  from  three  columns  of  such  titles  in  Poole's  Index  to  Periodical 
Literature :  — 

Advantages  of  Literature;  Ancient  and  Modern  Literature;  Literature  and 
the  People;  Literature  and  Style;  Literature  as  a  Profession;  Aspects  of 
Contemporary  Literature;  Caprices  and  Laws  of  Literature;  Cheap  Litera- 
ture; Effect  of  War  upon  Literature;  Ephemeral  Literature;  Literature  in 
Social  Life;  Individuality  in  Literature;  Nationality  in  Literature;  Principles 
of  Success  in  Literature;  Recreative  Use  of  Literature;  Toils  and  Rewards  of 
Literature;  Vital  Principle  of  Literature. 

The  following  are  some  of  the  titles  under  the  article  "  Socrates  " :  — 

Socrates  an  Ecstatic;  Socrates  and  Aristophanes;  Socrates  and  Christ; 
Socrates  and  the  Doctrine  of  Ideas;  Socrates  and  his  Philosophy;  Socrates 
and  Plato;  Socrates  and  the  Sophists  of  Athens;  Socrates  as  a  Teacher; 
Character  of  Socrates;  Daemon  of  Socrates;  Defense  of  Socrates;  Socrates' 
Place  in  Greek  Philosophy;  Theology  of  Socrates. 


252  THE  THEME. 

2.  The  subject  being  chosen,  an  important  question  here  aris- 
ing is,  How  is  the  deduction  of  the  theme  related  to  the  accumu- 
lation of  material  ?     Does  it  precede  or  follow  ? 

It  both  follows  and  precedes.  Before  the  theme  is  determined, 
the  writer  studies  to  get  a  point  of  view :  by  rapid  discursive  read- 
ing and  meditation  he  collects  a  store  of  ideas  related  in  different 
degrees  of  intimacy  to  his  subject,  but  not  yet  classified  and 
assigned  to  their  relative  rank.  On  these  miscellaneous  materials 
he  is  to  pass  a  careful  analytical  judgment,  in  order  to  determine 
what  he  can  use  and  what  he  must  reject,  and  in  order  to  ascer- 
tain their  most  significant  direction  for  his  use.  Then  after  the 
theme  is  determined,  the  writer  is  seeking  to  fortify  its  various 
points ;  his  reading  therefore  is  by  topics,  and  definitely  applied 
to  what  is  ascertained  to  be  lacking. 

3.  Not  infrequently  the  writer's  later  reading  and   thought  — 
what  Dr.  Bushnell  calls  "the  arrival  of  fresh  light" — may  lead 
him  essentially  to  modify  the  view  he  has  originally  taken  of  the 
subject.     If  so,  he  should  not  humor  his  indolence,  as  too  many 
do,  and  tack  on  new  and  incongruous  material  as  it  happens  :  he 
should  re-open  the  whole  process  of  determining  the  theme,  in 
order  to  get  such  a  unity  from  the  outset  as  will  accommodate  his 
latest  views.     It  is  due  both  to  the  reader's  convenience  of  inter- 
preting and  the  writer's  sharpness  of  meditation  that  the  theme 
should  be  exactly  commensurate  with  the  subject-matter. 

4.  A  peculiar  relation  of  subject  and  theme  is  found  in  the 
composition  of  sermons ;  where  the  subject,  instead  of  being  em- 
bodied in  a  word  or  phrase,  is  held  in  solution,  so  to  say,  in  a  text 
of  Scripture.     In  this  case  the  text,  interpreted  with  reference  to 
context,  circumstances,  parallel  passages,  and  the  like,  contains 
not  only  the  suggestion  of  the  theme  but  also  the  condensed  em- 
bodiment of  material  and  often  of  illustration. 

EXAMPLE  OF  THE  DEDUCTION  OF  A  SERMON  THEME.  —  The  following, 
quoted  from  Dr.  Bushnell,  who  was  renowned  for  his  skill  in  drawing  out  the 
suggestion  of  a  text,  illustrates  the  text,  the  theme,  both  as  title  and  proposi- 
tion, and  the  process  of  deduction.  The  opening  paragraph  of  the  sermon  is 
quoted. 


THE  THEME.  253 

Text,  Luke  ix.  13:  "But  He  said  unto  them,  Give  ye  them  to  eat." 
Theme:  DUTY  NOT  MEASURED  BY  OUR  OWN  ABILITY. 

"  When  Christ  lays  it  thus  upon  his  disciples,  in  that  solitary  and  desert 
place,  to  feed  five  thousand  men,  he  cannot  be  ignorant  of  the  utter  impossi- 
bility that  they  should  do  it.  And  when  they  reply  that  they  have  only  five 
loaves  and  two  fishes,  though  the  answer  is  plainly  sufficient,  he  is  nowise 
diverted  from  his  course  by  it,  but  presses  directly  on  in  the  new  order,  that 
they  make  the  people  sit  down  by  fifties  in  a  company,  and  be  ready  for  the 
proposed  repast.  Debating  in  themselves,  probably,  what  can  be  the  use  of 
such  a  proceeding,  when  really  there  is  no  supply  of  food  to  be  distributed, 
they  still  execute  his  order.  And  then  when  all  is  made  ready,  he  calls  for  the 
five  loaves  and  the  two  fishes,  and,  having  blessed  them,  begins  to  break,  and 
says  to  them  —  Distribute.  Marvellous  loaves !  broken,  they  are  not  diminished ! 
distributed,  they  still  remain !  And  so  returning,  again  and  again,  to  replen- 
ish their  baskets,  they  continue  the  distribution,  till  the  hungry  multitude  are 
all  satisfied  as  in  a  full  supply.  In  this  manner  the  original  command  —  Give 
ye  them  to  eat  —  is  executed  to  the  letter.  They  have  made  the  people  sit 
down,  they  have  brought  the  loaves,  they  have  distributed,  and  he  at  every 
step  has  justified  his  order,  by  making  their  scanty  stock  as  good  as  a  full 
supply. 

"  This  narrative  suggests  and  illustrates  the  following  important  principle  — 

"  That  men  are  often,  and  properly,  put  under  obligation  to  do  that  for 
•which  they  have,  in  themselves,  no  present  ability" 

Here  the  text  expresses  merely  the  kernel  or  lesson  of  the  passage  in  which 
it  occurs,  and  its  teaching  is  made  clear  by  a  summary  of  the  whole  narrative, 
which  summary  is  concentrated  upon  the  lesson.  The  example  is  a  more 
formal  deduction  of  a  theme  than  is  usual  in  sermons  nowadays;  but  the 
principle  remains  the  same,  however  concealed. 

Statement  of  the  Theme.  —  Being  the  working-idea,  the  theme 
must  exist  primarily  for  the  use  of  the  writer  alone.  This  requisite 
is  entirely  apart  from  the  question  whether  it  is  to  appear  definitely 
stated  in  the  complete  production  or  not ;  which  question  is  to  be 
decided  affirmatively  or  negatively  by  circumstances.  For  his  own 
use  the  theme  ought  in  all  cases  to  be  determined  in  a  definite 
and  painstaking  statement;  for  unless  such  a  sharply  defined 
nucleus  exists,  to  which  the  writer  may  at  all  points  refer  as  a 
means  of  estimating  the  bearings  of  his  thought,  the  production 
becomes  vague,  rambling,  out  of  symmetry  and  proportion. 


254  THE  THEME. 

In  the  production  as  presented  to  the  reader,  then,  the  theme 
may  be  either  expressed  or  implicit.  When  expressed,  it  ordi- 
narily takes  a  somewhat  expanded  form,  which  is  by  some  called 
the  proposition,  by  others  the  status.  There  is  no  need  of  sepa- 
rating in  idea,  as  some  do,  the  status  or  proposition  from  the 
theme ;  it  is  the  theme  merely  put  in  a  form  suitable  for  public 
expression. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. —  I.  The  example  quoted  above  from  Dr.  Bushnell  appears 
both  in  theme  and  proposition;  the  former  as  a  title,  the  latter  as  an  affirma- 
tion. Observe  that  the  latter  statement  is  more  extended,  though  not  less 
carefully  expressed. 

2.  In  Herbert  Spencer's  essay  on  "The  Social  Organism,"  the  theme  is 
expressed,  in  popular  form.     Compared  with  the  working-idea,  as  deducible 
from  the  study  of  the  essay,  it  presents  an  equivalent  thought,  being  merely 
the  nucleus  of  the  essay  condensed  to  a  single  proposition. 

Working-Idea :  ANALOGY  BETWEEN  THE  BODY  POLITIC  AND  LIVING  BODILY 
ORGANISMS. 

Expressed  Theme  or  Status :  "  That  under  all  its  aspects  and  through  all 
its  ramifications,  society  is  a  growth  and  not  a  manufacture" 

This  merely  puts  the  definition  of  organism  in  the  place  of  the  word,  and 
presents  it  in  connection  with  its  contrasted  idea. 

3.  In  Macaulay's  essay  on  "  History,"  the  theme  is  implicit;  but,  though 
nowhere  brought  to  the  definite  form  of  an  expressed  proposition,  the  writer's 
idea  and  purpose  are  apparent  throughout,  conditioning  every  part.     The 
theme  may  be  stated  thus :  — 

THE  ART  OF  HISTORICAL  COMPOSITION :  WHAT  IT  HAS  BEEN  AND  IS,  AND 
WHAT  IT  SHOULD  BE. 

As  to  the  manner  of  expressing  the  theme,  the  following  direc- 
tions are  of  importance. 

i.  The  leading  aim  in  determining  its  expression  is  exactness  : 
that  is,  every  word  should  be  so  accurately  weighed,  so  sharply 
defined,  and  its  relations  so  closely  discriminated,  that  it  may 
safely  stand  as  the  beginning  of  a  vista  of  thought  in  the  plan  of 
the  discourse.  This  is  necessitated  by  the  ideal  of  involving  in 
the  nucleus  what  is  to  be  evolved  in  the  completed  production. 

EXAMPLE  OF  REGARD  FOR  ACCURACY.  —  In  an  essay  on  "The  Study  of 
Mathematics  as  an  Exercise  of  Mind,"  Sir  William  Hamilton  thus  defines  his 


THE  THEME.  255 

theme,  emphasizing  by  italics  and  small  capitals  the  fact  that  it  should  be 
worded  just  so  and  not  otherwise :  — 

"  The  question  does  not  regard  the  value  of  mathematical  SCIENCE  considered 
in  itself,  or  in  its  objective  results,  but  the  utility  of  mathematical  STUDY,  that 
is,  in  its  subjective  effect,  as  an  exercise  of  mind." 

What  is  here  indicated  by  the  somewhat  excessive  use  of  printers'  devices  is 
merely  what  a  writer  of  clear  and  careful  mind  will  determine  for  himself:  his 
accuracy  will  be  real,  if  not  so  apparent. 

2.  A  second  aim  is  what  may  be  called  suggestiveness  :  that  is, 
words  and  phraseology  should  be  so  chosen  that  every  main  re- 
lation of  the  thought  may  be  provided  for,  and  that  no  smallest 
feature  of  the  theme  may  lack  significance.    The  ideal  —  that  the 
theme  be  exactly  commensurate  with  the  subject-matter,  neither 
too  broad  nor  too  narrow  —  dictates  that  every  word  of  the  theme 
have  its  meaning,  and  every  main  element  in  the  scope  of  the  pro- 
duction its  nucleus. 

EXAMPLES.  —  It  may  be  well  to  illustrate  this,  perhaps,  by  an  example  that 
would  seem,  if  any,  to  be  careless  of  such  a  requisite,  being  an  informal  and 
popular  production,  —  Lowell's  essay  "  On  a  Certain  Condescension  in  For- 
eigners." The  first  word  of  the  title,  "  On,"  indicates,  as  to  the  manner  of 
treatment,  that  the  writer  promises  merely  remarks,  discursive  or  casual,  but 
not  necessarily  exhaustive  of  the  subject,  or  scientifically  ordered.  Then,  "  a 
certain  condescension  "  implies  not  the  spirit  of  condescension  in  general,  but 
a  particular  manifestation  of  it,  which  it  is  the  business  of  the  essay  to  define 
and  illustrate.  Thus  the  title,  though  not  containing  more  than  a  promise  of 
the  working-idea,  suggests  exactly,  as  far  as  it  goes,  the  actual  scope  and 
treatment  of  the  subject. 

A  certain  clergyman's  study  of  the  text,  John  vii.  17,  "If  any  man  will  do 
his  will,  he  shall  know  of  the  doctrine,"  revealed  the  important  fact  that  in 
the  original  Greek  the  verb  translated  "  will  do "  is  not  a  simple  future  but 
indicates  volition;  which  fact  he  judged  should  be  suggested  in  the  expression 
of  his  working-idea;  so  he  adopted  as  his  theme  the  sentence,  rather  strikingly 
aphoristic,  "  Will  to  do  is  wit  to  know." 

3.  A  third  aim  in  properly  expressing  the  theme  is  brevity.     It 
is  of  advantage  to  employ  the  briefest  and  crispest  expression  pos- 
sible, because  this  favors  unity  of  idea  and  subordination  of  parts. 
A  word  may  stand  for  a  whole  main  division ;  an  epithet  may  suggest 


256  THE  THEME. 

important  limitations  and  applications.  The  working-idea  may 
indeed  be  stated  in  less  condensed  expression ;  but  in  the  theme  the 
object  is  rather  so  to  state  it  as  to  concentrate  it  on  one  point,  and 
this  dictates  that  the  point  be  not  obscured  by  superfluous  words. 

NOTE. — The  utility  of  a  briefly  stated  theme  is  perhaps  best  illustrated  in 
the  literature  of  the  pulpit,  where  the  theme  has  to  be  compacted  from  a  text 
of  Scripture.  Consider,  for  instance,  how  the  subject  is  brought  into  concen- 
trated shape  in  the  following  theme  of  a  sermon  by  Rev.  Alexander  Maclaren. 
From  the  text  2  Corinthians  iii.  1 8,  "We  all,  with  open  face  beholding  as  in  a 
glass  the  glory  of  the  Lord,  are  changed  into  the  same  image,"  he  deduces  the 
simple  theme,  "  Transformation  by  Beholding,"  thus  concentrating  the  thought 
on  a  single  object  (transformation),  which  is  to  be  gained  by  a  single  means 
(beholding).  This  brief  theme  is  just  commensurate  with  the  text. 

Form  of  the  Theme  as  related  to  Kind  of  Discourse.  —  No  kind 
of  discourse  can  safely  dispense  with  a  theme ;  but  it  is  to  be 
noted  that  in  the  essay,  which  we  are  here  studying  as  norm,1 
the  theme  appears  in  its  most  distinctly  articulated  shape ;  while  in 
some  other  kinds  of  discourse,  though  still  inlaid  in  the  structure  as 
a  definite  working-idea,  it  may  sometimes  seem  almost  dissipated 
into  a  vague  and  elusive  suggestion.  Not  so  to  the  writer,  how- 
ever ;  though  the  kind  of  subject-matter  and  the  aim  of  the  dis- 
course make  the  theme  sometimes  less  palpable  to  the  reader. 

It  is  in  narrative  writing,  perhaps,  that  the  theme  is  most  nearly 
formless,  being  merely  that  principle  of  unity  which  is  called  the 
conception  of  the  story.  By  the  conception  is  meant  the  central 
principle,  or  sentiment,  or  lesson  embodied  in  the  story  and  giving 
it  a  reason  for  existing;  a  character  to  which  all  its  parts  are 
nearly  or  remotely  related.  See  below,  p.  359. 

EXAMPLES.  —  Balzac's  novels  generally  have  a  very  palpable  theme.  His 
"  Pere  Goriot,"  for  instance,  might  be  entitled,  Paternal  love  as  an  overmaster- 
ing and  invincible  passion;  and  his  "C£sar  Birotteau"  is  a  study  of  simple 
business  integrity  that  will  take  no  subterfuges  of  law,  a  theme  similar  to  that 

1  Some  of  the  themes  quoted  by  way  of  example  have  indeed  been  taken  from 
sermons,  which  belong  rather  to  oratory ;  but  this  only  in  cases  where  the  theme 
was  not  essentially  modified  by  the  hortatory  aim  of  the  work, 


THE  THEME.  257 

of  Howells'  "  Rise  of  Silas  Lapham."  Not  always,  indeed,  is  the  conception 
of  a  story  so  clear  or  so  single;  but  if  it  have  none  at  all,  it  is  sure  to  incur 
reproach. 

In  descriptive  writing,  also,  the  theme  is  hard  to  reduce  to 
words,  being  a  conception  hidden  in  the  author's  mind  and  be- 
coming revealed  only  through  the  whole  course  of  the  work.  It 
is  his  conception  of  the  character  of  the  thing  described,  a  con- 
ception that  reveals  not  only  the  nature  of  the  thing  itself,  but  his 
own  individuality  and  skill  in  portrayal. 

EXAMPLES. — Thus,  Ruskin's  description  of  the  interior  of  St.  Mark's,  Ven- 
ice, centres  in  characteristics  of  color  and  symbolic  decoration;  Carlyle's 
description  of  Silesia  centres  mainly  in  topography;  Edgar's  description 
of  Dover  Cliff  in  Shakespeare's  King  Lear  emphasizes  its  dizzy  height; 
Motley's  account  of  the  character  of  William  of  Orange,  being  a  catalogue 
description,  is  more  discursive,  but  still  centres  quite  decidedly  in  the  qual- 
ities of  greatness  and  purity. 

An  expository  theme  takes  naturally  the  form  of  a  phrase  em- 
bodying the  idea  expounded,  with  suggestion  of  the  means  of 
exposition  employed.  It  is  under  this  form  of  discourse  that 
most  essay  themes  would  be  reckoned. 

EXAMPLES.  — Thus,  the  theme  of  Martineau's  essay  on  "  Revelation — What 
it  is  not,  and  What  it  is"  suggests  exposition  by  definition  and  contrast;  Spen- 
cer's essay,  already  mentioned,  on  "  the  body  politic  compared  to  a  living  or- 
ganism," suggests  exposition  by  analogy,  and  so  on. 

In  argumentation  the  theme  is  a  proposition,  so  carefully  ex- 
pressed and  guarded  that  two  opponents  may  be  agreed  on  the 
statement  of  it.  So  important  is  it  that  an  essential  preparation, 
ordinarily,  for  an  argumentative  discussion  is  the  settlement  of  the 
terms  and  nature  of  the  question,  —  in  other  words,  determining 
the  theme. 

EXAMPLE.  —  Thus,  in  the  arguments  on  liberal  education,  elective  studies, 
the  place  of  Latin  and  Greek  in  educational  courses,  and  the  like,  which  ap- 
pear so  frequently  in  periodical  literature,  much  of  the  work  is  definition  of 
terms  and  limits,  as  well  as  close  discrimination  of  the  author's  own  position. 


258  THE  THEME. 

In  oratory,  the  basis  of  which  is  the  appeal  to  the  will  or  per- 
suasion, the  theme  cannot  be  satisfied,  at  least  in  the  author's 
mind,  with  being  a  mere  articulated  subject.  He  must  choose  an 
object  rather  than  a  subject;  and  the  working-idea,  expressing 
something  that  may  be  acted  on,  should  be  reducible  to  a  single 
imperative  utterance. 

EXAMPLES.  —  Thus,  the  earliest  preachers  said  not  merely,  "  The  kingdom 
of  heaven  is  at  hand,"  but  also,  "  Repent";  and  the  modern  statesman,  while 
he  labors  to  convince  his  audience  that  this  or  that  view  of  a  public  measure 
is  the  true  one,  throws  the  whole  power  of  his  address  into  the  imperative, 
"Give  your  suffrage  and  allegiance  to  this  truth." 

The  Title.  — The  theme  and  the  title  of  a  work  are  related  to 
each  other  as  inner  and  outer.  In  the  theme  the  subject  exists  as 
determined  for  the  writer's  own  guidance.  In  the  title  the  sub- 
ject takes  the  name  by  which  it  is  to  be  introduced  to  the  world. 

In  form,  the  title  sometimes  coincides  with  the  theme,  some- 
times with  the  unrestricted  subject.  Oftenest,  however,  it  has  a 
form  of  its  own,  dictated  by  the  circumstances  of  publication,  or 
by  the  writer's  own  fancy. 

The  following  are  the  main  considerations  governing  the  choice 
of  a  title. 

i.  The  title  should  give  a  clue,  correct  and  adequate,  to  the  main 
idea  of  the  work. 

This  main  idea  may,  however,  be  approached  in  different  ways. 
When  the  work  is  of  the  purely  intellectual  type,  that  is,  when  the 
reader  is  to  peruse  it  for  mere  information  or  argument,  the  title 
expresses  its  main  DIDACTIC  idea.  Sometimes,  however,  when  the 
work  embodies  a  strong  emotional  element,  or  is  intended  to 
arouse  readers  to  the  importance  and  significance  of  its  subject- 
matter,  it  may  be  better  to  make  the  title  indicate  the  SPIRIT  or 
SENTIMENT  of  the  work. 

EXAMPLES.  —  i.  Didactic  titles.  Herbert  Spencer's  "The  Principles  of 
Sociology  " ;  Lecky's  "  History  of  European  Morals,  from  Augustus  to  Charle- 
magne"; Dowden's  "  Shakspere,  his  Mind  and  Art." 


THE  THEME.  259 

2.  Titles  indicating  the  spirit  of  a  work.  Mrs.  Helen  Hunt  Jackson's  "  A 
Century  of  Dishonor  "  is  a  history  of  the  United  States  government's  dealings 
with  the  Indians,  and  the  title  reveals  its  animus.  In  Charles  Reade's  "  Put 
Yourself  in  his  Place  "  the  title  embraces  the  moral  lesson  taught  throughout 
the  story. 

2.  As  a  published  work  must  be  not  only  made  but  sold,  and  as 
people  must  have  some  inducement  to  take  up  a  new  work,  the  title 
needs  to  have  an  attractiveness  and  interest  in  itself. 

This  requisite  often  makes  the  choice  of  a  title,  especially  in 
more  purely  literary  productions,  a  matter  of  much  difficulty ;  and 
with  all  the  pains  taken,  the  fate  of  a  title  not  infrequently  seems 
like  mere  chance.  No  one  can  calculate  unerringly  just  what  will 
strike  the  public  taste.  '  The  endeavor  to  attract  readers  leads 
often  to  the  choice  of  figurative  titles,  alliterative  and  epigram- 
matic titles,  scraps  of  quotation,  proverbs,  and  the  like ;  which 
reveal,  more  or  less  pleasurably,  the  writer's  fancy  and  taste. 

EXAMPLES. —  I.  A  figurative  title  should  of  course  suggest,  and  not  obscurely, 
the  literal  idea  that  justly  characterizes  the  work.  Johnson's  "  Rambler  "  has 
been  mentioned  as  faulty  in  this  respect.  Carlyle's  "  Sartor  Resartus  "  (The 
Tailor  Re-fitted)  is  founded  throughout  on  an  extended  metaphor,  which  the 
title  sufficiently  suggests.  "  Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse  "  is  the  graceful  name 
that  Hawthorne  gives  to  a  volume  of  short  stories  written  in  the  old  manse, 
his  residence  in  Concord.  "  Suspiria  de  Profundis "  contains  some  of  De 
Quincey's  confessions  regarding  his  deplorable  opium  habit,  with  the  strange 
and  often  exceedingly  sad  visions  induced  thereby. 

2.  Examples  of  gracefully  or  quaintly  worded  titles  are,  "  Sights  and  In- 
sights," a  volume  of  travels  by  Mrs.  Whitney;   "Sunny  Memories  of  Foreign 
Lands,"  a  similar  work  by  Mrs.  Stowe;  "Buds  and  Bird-voices,"  a  volume  of 
nature  sketches   by  John   Burroughs;    "Aftermath"  is  the  name  given  by 
Longfellow  to  one  of  the  later  volumes  of  his  poems. 

3.  "All's  Well  that  Ends  Well"  is  a  popular  proverb  used  for  a  title;  so  is 
Charles   Reade's   "Never   too   Late   to  Mend."     "Far  from   the   Madding 
Crowd,"  "Airy  Fairy  Lilian,"  "The  Wooing  o't,"  "A  Counterfeit  Present- 
ment," are  titles  of  popular  stories,  all  scraps  of  quotation. 

3.  While  the  title  may  well  arouse  pleasurable  anticipations  of  the 
interest  of  the  work,  it  should  not  promise  more  than  the  work  can 
fulfill.  A  modest  claim  makes  a  better  impression. 


260  THE  PLAN. 

EXAMPLES.  —  One  of  Burke's  great  political  works  bears  the  modest  title, 
"Thoughts  on  the  Cause  of  the  Present  Discontents";  another  is  entitled 
"  Reflections  on  the  Revolution  in  France."  An  important  essay  of  Carlyle's 
is  entitled  simply,  "  Characteristics." 

4.  When  the  title  is  not  sufficiently  suggestive,  or  when  it  is  de- 
sirable to  combine  some  of  the  above-named  requisites,  a  second  or 
sub-title  is  often  added  to  the  main  one.  The  same  office  is  some- 
times filled  by  a  motto. 

EXAMPLES.  —  "The  Unseen  Universe;  or,  Physical  Speculations  on  a 
Future  State."  In  the  introduction  to  Sir  Walter  Scott's  "Waverley;  or, 
Tis  Sixty  Years  Since,"  is  a  very  interesting  discussion  of  the  suggestiveness 
of  both  members  of  the  title.  In  Jevons's  "  Principles  of  Science;  a  Treatise 
on  Logic  and  Scientific  Method,"  the  second  part  of  the  title  is  necessary  to 
the  right  suggestiveness  of  the  first. 


SECTION   SECOND. 

CONSTRUCTION   OF  THE   PLAN. 

IN  the  process  of  determining  his  theme,  if  for  this  purpose  he 
has  analyzed  his  material  carefully,  the  writer  has  obtained  a 
tolerably  definite  idea  of  the  general  course  of  his  thought ;  he 
is  at  least  aware  of  its  inclusion  and  manner  of  treatment,  and 
sometimes  of  the  main  stages  of  its  progress.  As  yet,  however,  it 
remains  for  the  most  part  unclassified.  The  next  step,  therefore, 
is  to  examine  anew  the  various  hints  and  shades  of  suggestion 
that  lie  involved  in  the  theme,  and  systematize  these  into  a  plan 
of  discourse,  in  which  the  accumulated  material  shall  appear  in 
properly  subordinated,  proportioned,  and  progressive  sequence. 

In  all  the  art  of  composition  there  is  perhaps  no  more  frequent 
source  of  misapprehension,  on  the  part  of  young  writers,  than  this 
matter  of  the  plan.  The  structure  of  a  finished  literary  work,  as  it 
lies  before  them  for  perusal,  seems  so  natural,  so  inevitable,  that 
they  easily  get  the  idea  that  it  never  was  made,  but  sprang  mature 
from  the  author's  brain,  as  Pallas  sprang  from  the  brain  of  Jove. 


THE  PLAN.  261 

And  so  they  imagine  they  have  only  to  surrender  their  thinking  to 
its  own  unguided  vagaries,  trusting  that  earnestness  and  enthusi- 
asm will  make  everything  come  out  right. 

But  thought  does  not  shape  itself  spontaneously.  Nor  will  it 
find  its  natural  order  without  the  trained  and  vigorous  working  of 
the  writer's  best  calculating  powers.  This  is  the  universal  testi- 
mony of  those  who  have  achieved  eminence  in  writing.  And  rigid 
analysis  of  any  literary  work  that  leaves  a  definite  and  remember- 
able  impression  on  the  reader's  mind  reveals  the  invariable  fact  of 
a  skillfully  laid  plan  ;  that  is,  it  is  found  that  both  main  and  minor 
thoughts  follow  one  another  according  to  natural  laws  of  associa- 
tion, and  bear  the  marks  of  intentional  and  studious  arrangement. 

I.   GENERAL  MECHANISM  OF  THE  PLAN. 

Every  writer  must  find  his  own  plan,  and  his  own  natural  way 
of  planning ;  this  is  as  necessary  as  that  he  should  find  his  own 
thought.  A  treatise  on  invention  cannot,  therefore,  legislate  for 
any  individual  case.  It  can,  however,  point  out  those  general  laws 
of  arrangement  which  are  found  to  underlie  every  coherent  literary 
production ;  laws  which  cannot  be  transgressed  without  throwing  the 
composition  into  crudeness  and  confusion.  So  much  can  be  done, 
though  the  application  of  them  must  be  left  to  the  writer  himself. 

How  Material,  of  Different  Kinds,  lends  itself  to  Planning.  — 
Some  kinds  of  material  fall  into  order  more  naturally  than  others, 
and  consequently  require  less  pains  in  planning,  or  rather  require 
pains  in  solving  problems  of  a  different  kind  ;  for  no  kind  of  mate- 
rial is  exempt  from  the  utmost  carefulness  in  planning.  As  related 
to  facility  of  arrangement  material  may  be  roughly  divided  into 
two  classes. 

i .  Such  as  contains  naturally  suggested  its  own  method.  Under 
this  head  comes  first  of  all  narrative  material,1  which  generally  has 

1  "  Considered  as  an  Author,  Herr  TeufelsdrSckh  has  one  scarcely  pardonable 
fault,  doubtless  his  worst :  an  almost  total  want  of  arrangement.  In  this  remarka- 
ble Volume,  it  is  true,  his  adherence  to  the  mere  course  of  Time  produces,  through 
the  Narrative  portions,  a  certain  show  of  outward  method ;  but  of  true  logical 
method  and  sequence  there  is  too  little."  —  Carlyle,  "  Sartor  Resartus." 


262  THE  PLAN. 

merely  to  follow  the  order  of  time ;  then  in  less  degree  descriptive 
material,  which,  when  it  deals  with  objects  of  sight,  may  generally 
be  guided  as  to  method  by  the  order  of  objects  in  space.  It  is  to 
be  noted  that  where  the  order  suggests  itself  the  difficulties  of 
arrangement,  released  from  the  problem  of  sequence,  lie  more  in 
problems  of  proportion  and  perspective. 

2.  Such  as,  originating  in  human  thought,  must  submit  itself  to 
the  laws  of  thought ;  whose  method,  therefore,  is  not  so  much 
found  as  made  by  the  writer's  logical  sense  and  power  of  perspicu- 
ous arrangement.  Under  this  head  comes  expository,  argumenta- 
tive, and  hortatory  material ;  of  all  which  the  leading  problem  is, 
how  to  find  a  sequence  that  shall  lead  the  reader  naturally  forward 
and  be  easily  retained  in  his  memory. 

The  difficulties  of  planning  belong  mostly  to  material  of  this 
second  class.  They  are  simply  the  difficulties  of  finding,  so  to 
say,  common  ground  between  human  minds;  that  is,  of  invent- 
ing a  logical  order  in  which  the  author  may  be  sure  he  has 
successfully  consulted  the  thinking  and  retaining  powers  of  his 
readers. 

Requisites  of  Construction.  —  It  would  be  precarious  to  say  that 
every  course  of  thought  has  an  ideally  best  order,  to  which  each 
individual  writer  approximates  more  or  less  closely.  Dr.  Johnson 
thinks,  indeed,  that  the  steps  of  a  logically  ordered  thought  are 
commonly  interchangeable.  He  says,1  "  Of  all  homogeneous 
truths  at  least,  of  all  truths  respecting  the  same  general  end,  in 
whatever  series  they  may  be  produced,  a  concatenation  by  inter- 
mediate ideas  may  be  formed,  such  as,  when  it  is  once  shewn, 
shall  appear  natural ;  but  if  this  order  be  reversed,  another  mode 
of  connection  equally  specious  may  be  found  or  made."  And 
again,  "  As  the  end  of  method  is  perspicuity,  that  series  is  suffi- 
ciently regular  that  avoids  obscurity;  and  where  there  is  no 
obscurity  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  discover  method." 

There  are,  however,  some  requisites  of  construction  necessary 
to  keep  the  stages  of  the  plan,  however  ordered,  from  obscurity. 

1  Johnson,  Life  of  Pope. 


THE  PLAN.  263 

The  three  most  important  of  these  may  here  be  defined  and  exem- 
plified. 

1.  The  first  requisite  is  distinction.    This  requires  that  the  im- 
portant thoughts  of  a  production  be  well  discriminated,  and  that 
they  be  distinguished  from  each  other  by  expression  whose  strik- 
ingness  corresponds  to  the  significance  of  the  thought  so  marked. 
By  brief  definitive  sentences,  which  may  be  heightened  by  antith- 
esis and  epigram,  the  cardinal  ideas  should  be  made  to  stand  out 
from  their  surroundings,  as  landmarks  in  the  course  of  thought, 
thus  keeping  the  reader  aware  what  are  to  be  the  principal  objects 
of  his  attention. 

NOTE.  —  Some  writers  are  more  particular  about  this  requisite  than  others; 
and  in  proportion  to  their  care  in  observing  it  is  the  reader's  satisfaction  in 
the  plan  and  articulation  of  their  thought.  Among  those  who  have  an  emi- 
nent sense  of  form  in  this  respect  may  be  mentioned  Macaulay  and  Ruskin. 

2.  The  second  requisite  is  sequence.     This  requires  that  the 
successive  thoughts  of  a  production  should,  as  far  as  possible,  grow 
out  of  each  other,  each  suggested  and  prepared  for  by  its  pre- 
ceding, without  breaks  and  dislocations.    The  ideal  is  to  make 
such  a  thread  of  continuity  extend  through  the  whole  as  will  give 
it  somewhat  the  movement  of  a  story,  with  a  like  obviousness 
of  cause  and  effect  or  other  associative  affinities  between  the 
thoughts.     See  below,  page  273. 

NOTE.  —  The  narrative  which,  tracing  events  from  cause  to  effect  and  from 
point  to  point  in  time,  contains  the  most  natural  and  easy  means  of  sequence, 
is  the  ideal  and  norm  of  sequence  in  every  discourse.  The  nearer  we  can 
come  to  such  continuity  of  movement  the  less  the  main  thoughts  will  appear 
like  a  catalogue  and  the  more  like  an  organism. 

3.  The  third  requisite  is  climax.    This  requires  that  the  thought 
as  it  advances  should  rise  in  interest  and  evident  importance  with 
each  successive  step,  until  the  culmination  concentrates  in  itself  in 
some  sense  the  significance  of  all  that  has  gone  before.     Such  a 
requisite  is  involved  in  the  idea  that  true  discourse  is  a  growth. 


264  THE  PLAN. 

NOTE.  —  The  importance  of  climax  as  a  law  of  style  —  see  preceding,  pages 
105  to  107  —  is  even  exceeded  by  its  importance  as  a  law  of  invention.  It  is 
a  principal  element  in  imparting  to  discourse  the  quality  of  movement.  Climax 
is  largely  involved  in  sequence.  For  if  any  succeeding  thought  is  what  it  is 
by  the  influence  and  preparation  of  the  preceding,  it  takes  into  itself  the  double 
significance  of  the  preceding  and  itself,  and  its  progress  is  thus  an  ascent. 

The  Outline  Structure,  or  Skeleton.  —  In  order  to  preserve 
due  distinction,  sequence,  and  climax  in  the  thoughts,  it  is  ordi- 
narily necessary,  and  always  of  great  advantage,  to  set  them  down, 
stated  in  their  most  condensed  form,  in  a  tabular  view,  with  their 
progress  and  subordination  indicated  by  numerals  or  letters.  This 
for  the  writer's  own  assistance  in  planning,  not  necessarily  for  the 
reader. 

"  A  skeleton,"  says  Professor  Phelps,1  "  is  not  a  thing  of  beauty ; 
but  it  is  the  thing  which,  more  than  any  other,  makes  the  body 
erect  and  strong  and  swift.  John  Quincy  Adams  says  that '  divis- 
ions belong  to  the  art  of  thinking.'  They  are  fundamental,  then, 
to  the  art  of  uttering  thought.  To  the  same  purpose  is  the  old 
Roman  proverb,  Qui  bene  distingnit,  bene  docet"  This  point  is 
here  emphasized  because  young  writers  need  to  overcome  the  dis- 
like, which  almost  universally  they  have,  of  a  skeleton  plan  in  liter- 
ary work.  Such  an  outline  is  an  indispensable  auxiliary  to  finished 
and  accurate  thought-building.  The  making  of  it  stimulates  and 
sharpens  meditation,  and  cultivates  the  logical  sense.  It  will  prob- 
ably be  time  saved  in  any  literary  task  if  the  young  writer,  whose 
aptitudes  in  this  respect  are  in  course  of  education,  spends  half  the 
time  at  his  disposal  in  constructing  and  reconstructing  his  outline 
plan. 

It  would  not  be  of  practical  service  here  to  recommend  any 
particular  manner  of  tabulating  thoughts ;  every  one  can  work 
best  in  his  own  harness.  Whatever  the  form  adopted,  each  writer 
should,  in  planning,  work  for  these  three  qualities  :  — 

i .  Simplicity  —  the  main  divisions  few  and  obvious,  instead  of 
many  and  abstruse ; 

1  Phelps,  "  Theory  of  Preaching,"  p.  425. 


THE  PLAN.  265 

2.  Concise  and  clear-cut  expression  of  each  thought  —  its  lim- 
its and  its  central  significance  carefully  determined ; 

3.  Proportion  —  the  relative  rank  of  thoughts  closely  estimated, 
and  the  part  each  is  to  play  in  the  discourse  indicated  by  divisions 
and  subdivisions.     The  minuteness  of  such  calculation  should,  of 
course,  be  carried  in  the  writer's  study  much  farther  than  would 
ever  be  displayed  for  the  reader. 

How  far  the  Skeleton  should  be  Visible  in  the  Completed 
Work.  —  This  is  a  point  to  be  determined  partly  by  the  nature  of 
the  thought,  and  partly  by  the  occasion  of  its  presentation. 

1.  The  more  a  subject  taxes  the  mind,  and  the  less  obvious  its 
laws  of  sequence,  the  more  carefully  must  its  steps  be  marked  for 
the  help  of  the  reader.     Abstruse  subjects,  therefore,  and  in  general 
subjects  that  depend  for  their  movement  on  logical  sequences,  have 
the  most  need  of  a  visible  structure,  indicated  by  numerals  or  other 
such  devices. 

2.  Spoken  discourse  has  ordinarily  to  be  richer  in  such  external 
indications  of  plan  than  written  discourse.     The  reason  is  obvious  : 
because  the  thought  has  to  be  made  clear  and  marked  enough  to 
be  received  and  retained  by  a  single  hearing. 

It  is  to  be  acknowledged,  however,  that  such  display  of  the  skele- 
ton plan,  indispensable  though  it  often  is,  is  at  the  best  a  make- 
shift, due  to  the  necessities  of  the  case.  If  the  writer  so  plans  his 
subject  that  his  reader  may  receive  it  and  be  clearly  aware  of  its 
progress  without  thinking  of  its  framework,  he  has  achieved  a 
greater  success.  But  to  this  end  the  reader  must  be  spared  all 
dislocations  and  abruptness ;  the  turnings  and  transitions  of  the 
thought  must  be  easily  perceivable ;  and  much  care  must  be  given 
to  preparatory  and  introductory  thoughts.  Let  therefore  these 
internal  indications  of  plan  be  first  attended  to,  and  then  let  the 
external  marks  be  used  merely  so'  far  as  they  are  indispensable. 

It  is  of  importance  that  headings  expressing  the  same  rank  in 
the  thought  —  whether  main  divisions  or  subdivisions  —  should 
have  a  similar  form  of  expression  ;  and  equally,  that  the  form  of 
expression  chosen  for  subdivisions  differ  from  the  form  chosen  for 


266  THE  PLAN. 

main  divisions.     Like  construction  between  headings  is  as  impor- 
tant as  like  construction  between  clauses  of  a  sentence. 

EXAMPLES.  —  A  heading  may  be  stated  either  in  the  prepositional  form,  — 
declaratory,  interrogative,  imperative,  —  or  in  the  titular  form,  by  a  word  or 
phrase.  The  prepositional  form  is  found  predominantly  in  sermons. 

The  following  plan  of  a  sermon  by  Dr.  Herrick  Johnson,  on  Proverbs  xxiii. 
23  —  "  Buy  the  truth,  and  sell  it  not "  —  is  a  series  of  affirmations :  — 

I.   Truth  costs;   it  must  be  bought. 
II.  Truth  is  worth  all  it  costs. 
III.  Though  truth  is  worth  so  much,  it  is  sometimes  sold. 

The  following,  from  Rev.  Newman  Hall's  sermon  on  "  The  Penitent  Thief," 
Luke  xxiii.  42,  43,  illustrates  the  difference  of  construction  between  divisions 
and  subdivisions.  The  former  employs  the  titular  form,  the  latter,  the  preposi- 
tional. The  sermon  thus  abruptly  begins :  — 

"  These  words  bring  before  us  a  remarkable  illustration  both  of  a  sinner's 
repentance  and  of  the  Saviour's  grace.  Let  us  consider,  — 

I.  The  repentance  of  the  dying  thief. 

How  indicated :  — 

1.  He  manifested  reverence  toward  God. 

2.  He  manifested  contrition  for  sin,  and  confessed  it. 

3.  He  appreciated  the  goodness  of  Christ. 

4.  He  bore  public  witness  to  Christ. 

5.  He  manifested  strong  faith. 

6.  He  prayed. 

7.  He  exhibited  zealous  concern  for  others. 

II.  The  Saviour's  grace. 

How  shown  in  his  promise :  — 

1.  The  promise  of  Jesus  referred  to  place  —  'in  paradise.' 

2.  The  promise  of  Jesus  related  to  companionship  — '  with  me.' 

3.  The  promise  of  Jesus  related  to  time  — '  to-day.' " 

In  cases  where  the  theme  is  not  expressed,  the  headings  are  either  left  un- 
marked or  are  indicated  by  a  mere  numeral. 

II.  THE  THREE  FUNDAMENTAL  ELEMENTS  OF  THE  PLAN. 

These,  which  in  some  form  and  proportion  must  appear  in  every 
literary  work,  are  the  introduction,  the  development,  and  the  con- 
clusion. Each  of  these  requires  some  detailed  discussion. 


THE  PLAN.  267 

I. 

The  Introduction.  —  The  introduction  comprises  whatever  is 
necessary  to  make  proper  approach  to  the  theme. 

NOTE.  —  The  natural  place  to  state  the  theme,  therefore,  when  it  is  ex- 
pressed, is  at  the  end  of  the  introduction.  This  is  exemplified  in  the  quota- 
tion from  Dr.  Bushnell  on  page  253,  where  the  introduction  leads  up  to  and 
culminates  in  a  proposition.  Sometimes  to  the  statement  of  the  theme  there 
is  added  a  brief  indication  of  the  plan,  but  only  of  its  leading  heads. 

Rationale  of  the  Introduction. — The  fundamental  object  of  the 
introduction  is  to  call  in  the  subject  from  the  various  surroundings 
and  associations  extraneous  to  the  present  treatment  and  concentrate 
it  on  a  single  point,  which  point  is  the  main  idea  of  the  production. 
Or,  to  put  it  in  other  words,  the  introduction  is  to  furnish  such 
preliminary  information  as  is  needed  to  put  the  reader  in  possession 
of  the  subject,  the  point  of  view,  and  the  manner  of  the  treatment. 

This  object  may  require  different  procedures,  according  to  the 
type  of  discourse. 

i .  When  the  type  of  discourse  is  merely  intellectual  or  didactic, 
that  is,  when  the  writer's  object  is  to  inform,  instruct,  or  convince, 
it  is  generally  sufficient  for  the  introduction  to  define  the  setting  of 
the  theme  :  in  time,  if  the  work  is  historical ;  in  space,  if  descrip- 
tive ;  in  some  system  of  ideas,  if  expository.  It  enters  the  general 
region  of  fact  or  thought  to  which  the  work  belongs,  and  determines 
as  plainly  and  directly  as  possible  a  particular  point  or  section,  to 
which  present  attention  is  to  be  directed. 

EXAMPLES.  —  I.  This  primary  object  of  the  introduction  is  well  illustrated  in 
the  introduction  to  Gibbon's  History  of  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman 
Empire,  the  openjng  paragraph  of  which  is  as  follows :  — 

"  In  the  second  century  of  the  Christian  Era,  the  empire  of  Rome  compre- 
hended the  fairest  part  of  the  earth,  and  the  most  civilized  portion  of  man- 
kind. The  frontiers  of  that  extensive  monarchy  were  guarded  by  ancient 
renown  and  disciplined  valor.  The  gentle  but  powerful  influence  of  laws  and 
manners  had  gradually  cemented  the  union  of  the  provinces.  Their  peaceful 
inhabitants  enjoyed  and  abused  the  advantages  of  wealth  and  luxury.  The 
image  of  a  free  constitution  was  preserved  with  decent  reverence;  the  Roman 


268  THE  PLAN. 

senate  appeared  to  possess  the  sovereign  authority,  and  devolved  on  the 
emperors  all  the  executive  powers  of  government.  During  a  happy  period  of 
more  than  fourscore  years,  the  public  administration  was  conducted  by  the 
virtue  and  abilities  of  Nerva,  Trajan,  Hadrian,  and  the  two  Antonines.  It  is 
the  design  of  this  and  of  the  two  succeeding  chapters,  to  describe  the  prosperous 
condition  of  their  empire;  and  afterwards,  from  the  death  of  Marcus  Antoni- 
nus, to  deduce  the  most  important  circumstances  of  its  decline  and  fall;  a 
revolution  which  will  ever  be  remembered,  and  is  still  felt  by  the  nations  of 
the  earth." 

A  work  so  comprehensive  as  a  great  history  requires  a  correspondingly 
great  introduction;  three  chapters  are  needed  in  this  to  give  the  proper  set- 
ting of  the  theme,  preparatory  to  tracing  out  the  distinctive  path  of  the  work. 

2.  Sometimes  the  setting  most  needed  for  the  theme  relates  to  such  ques- 
tions as  manner  of  present  treatment  or  state  of  the  subject.  Thus  in  an 
essay  by  F.  W.  H.  Myers  on  "Greek  Oracles,"  the  introduction  of  which  com- 
prises eleven  paragraphs,  the  first  nine  make  a  somewhat  elaborate  approach, 
largely  of  this  character,  to  the  following  theme :  — 

"I  have  in  this  Essay  endeavored  to  trace,  —  by  suggestion  rather  than  in 
detail,  but  with  constant  reference  to  the  results  of  recent  science,  —  the  develop- 
ment and  career  in  Greece  of  one  remarkable  class  of  religious  phenomena 
which  admits  to  some  extent  of  separate  treatment." 

The  remaining  two  paragraphs  then  sketch  the  plan  of  treatment  proposed 
in  the  essay  with  a  division  into  two  historical  periods. 

2.  When,  however,  the  discourse  con  tains  an  emotional  element, 
as  for  instance  in  oratory  or  works  of  sentiment,  the  introduction 
has  sometimes,  though  not  always,  to  seek  more  objects  than  this. 
In  addition  to  making  a  setting  for  the  theme,  it  may  have  also  to 
arouse  interest,  overcome  prejudice,  and  the  like.  Cicero's  defini- 
tion covers  such  cases.  He  says  the  introduction  (and  he  refers  to 
the  oratorical  introduction)  has  for  object,  — 

"  Reddere  auditores  benevolos,  attentos,  dociles,"  — 

to  make  the  hearers  — 

Benevolos,  well-disposed ;  that  is,  by  securing  good-will  toward 
the  speaker.  Ancient  orators  used  to  speak  much  of  themselves, 
and  a  personal  introduction  of  this  kind  was  considered  very  impor- 
tant ;  but  in  modern  times  it  is  in  less  favor,  being  accounted 
necessary  only  in  exceptional  cases. 


THE  PLAN.  269 

Attentos,  attentive ;  that  is,  by  rousing  interest  in  the  subject- 
matter.  Special  inventive  tact  is  needed  in  making  approach  to  a 
subject  that  is  worn  and  common,  or  that  is  generally  accounted 
dry ;  some  preliminary  energy  must  be  employed  in  gaining  a  hear- 
ing, and  dispelling  indifference. 

Dociles,  teachable  ;  that  is,  by  overcoming  prejudice  and  opposi- 
tion ;  when,  for  instance,  the  subject  is  unpopular,  or  finds  the 
hearers  already  possessed  of  an  opposite  view.  Before  actual  ad- 
vance can  be  made  with  the  discourse  they  must  be  brought  to 
listen  candidly. 

EXAMPLES. —  I.  Some  words  intended  to  make  the  hearers  well-disposed 
toward  the  speaker  are  found  in  the  introduction  to  Webster's  speech  on  The 
Murder  of  Captain  Joseph  White :  — 

"  I  am  little  accustomed,  Gentlemen,  to  the  part  which  I  am  now  attempt- 
ing to  perform.  Hardly  more  than  once  or  twice  has  it  happened  to  me  to 
be  concerned  on  the  side  of  the  government  in  any  criminal  prosecution  what- 
ever; and  never,  until  the  present  occasion,  in  any  case  affecting  life.  But  I 
very  much  regret  that  it  should  have  been  thought  necessary  to  suggest  to  you 
that  I  am  brought  here  to  '  hurry  you  against  the  law  and  beyond  the  evidence.' 
I  hope  I  have  too  much  regard  for  justice,  and  too  much  respect  for  my  own 
character,  to  attempt  either;  and  were  I  to  make  such  attempt,  I  am  sure  that 
in  this  court  nothing  can  be  carried  against  the  law,  and  that  gentlemen, 
intelligent  and  just  as  you  are,  are  not,  by  any  power,  to  be  hurried  beyond  the 
evidence."  Etc. 

2.  The  opening  of  Mr.  Froude's  lecture  on  The  Science  of  History  illus- 
trates how,  by  a  familiar  and  colloquial  style,  attention  and  interest  are  secured 
for  a  rather  forbidding  subject :  — 

"  LADIES  AND  GENTLEMEN,  —  I  have  undertaken  to  speak  to  you  this  even- 
ing on  what  is  called  the  Science  of  History.  I  fear  it  is  a  dry  subject;  and 
there  seems,  indeed,  something  incongruous  in  the  very  connection  of  such 
words  as  Science  and  History.  It  is  as  if  we  were  to  talk  of  the  color  of 
sound,  or  the  longitude  of  the  Rule-of-three.  Where  it  is  so  difficult  to  make 
out  the  truth  on  the  commonest  disputed  fact  in  matters  passing  under  our 
very  eyes,  how  can  we  talk  of  a  science  in  things  long  past  which  come  to  us 
only  through  books?  It  often  seems  to  me  as  if  History  was  like  a  child's 
box  of  letters  with  which  we  can  spell  any  word  we  please.  We  have  only  to 
pick  out  such  letters  as  we  want,  arrange  them  as  we  like,  and  say  nothing 
about  those  which  do  not  suit  our  purpose.  I  will  try  to  make  the  thing  intel- 


270  THE  PLAN. 

ligible,  and  I  will  try  not  to  weary  you ;  but  I  am  doubtful  of  my  success 
either  way."  Etc. 

3.  A  good  example  of  the  introduction  conciliatory,  designed  and  adapted 
to  secure  a  candid  hearing  to  a  subject  that  is  likely  to  offend,  is  found  in  the 
opening  of  St.  Paul's  speech  at  Athens : 1  — 

"YE  MEN  OF  ATHENS:  All  things  which  I  behold  bear  witness  to  your 
carefulness  in  religion.  For  as  I  passed  through  your  city  and  beheld  the 
objects  of  your  worship,  I  found  amongst  them  an  altar  with  this  inscription,  — 

To  THE  UNKNOWN  GOD. 

Whom,  therefore,  ye  worship,  though  ye  know  Him  not,  Him  declare  I  unto 
you." 

The  formal  introduction  is  indeed  sometimes  omitted;  but 
when  this  is  the  case,  there  is  generally  something  in  the  occasion 
itself  which  furnishes  introduction  to  the  theme.  The  subject 
may  have  been  opened  by  a  previous  speaker,  or  it  may  be  so 
general  a  topic  of  discussion  that  the  public  are  already  in  posses- 
sion of  the  approaches  to  it ;  and  as  to  interest,  it  may  be  so  near 
the  hearts  and  lives  of  the  people  that  any  formal  attempt  to 
ground  and  justify  it  would  be  superfluous.  In  such  cases  the 
introduction  is  already  made. 

Form  and  Style  of  the  Introduction. — The  suggestions  given 
under  this  head  must  of  necessity  be  somewhat  general. 

The  relation  between  the  introduction  and  the  development  may 
in  a  sense  be  regarded  as  a  relation  of  contrast ;  the  contrast, 
namely,  between  the  general  and  the  particular,  between  the  ab- 
stract and  the  concrete,  between  what  is  new  and  what  is  well 
known.  For  instance,  when  the  discourse  deals  with  concrete, 
particular  facts,  the  introduction  naturally  seeks  some  general  set- 
ting for  them,  or  some  larger  region  of  thought  to  which  all  the 
facts  are  related  as  parts  or  exemplifications.  And  again,  when 
the  discourse  deals  with  a  general  truth,  the  introduction  often 
seeks  as  starting-point  some  particular  application  of  it ;  and  this 
gives  rise  to  the  frequent  practice  of  starting  with  some  incident 

1  Acts  xvii.  22,  23.  The  above  is  Conybeare  and  Howson's  translation,  given 
here  because  it  represents  more  truly  than  does  the  Authorized  Version  the  courtesy 
of  the  speech. 


THE  PLAN.  271 

or  illustration,  some  quotation  or  figure  of  speech,  and  less  directly, 
with  mention  of  circumstances  and  occasion,  —  devices  which, 
rightly  used,  are  intended  to  embody  or  suggest,  in  concrete  form, 
the  principle  under  discussion. 

EXAMPLE.  —  At  the  beginning  of  Mr.  Lowell's  essay  "  On  a  Certain  Conde- 
scension in  Foreigners"  an  incident  and  some  discursive  remarks  seem  to 
approach  the  theme  from  a  very  remote  point;  still  we  find  that  all  has  its 
office. 

The  author  begins  by  describing  a  summer  evening  walk  that  he  took  soon 
after  the  civil  war  had  ended;  during  which  walk  his  meditations  centred  in 
the  thought  that  our  country,  with  its  quiet  scenes,  its  heroic  men,  its  young 
associations,  is  as  worthy  of  its  children's  love  as  are  older  countries.  While 
thus  musing,  he  is  interrupted  by  a  voice  inquiring  in  German  if  he  is  "  Herr 
Professor  Doctor  So-and-So."  The  speaker  is  a  German  beggar,  who  has 
tracked  him  out  in  order  to  solicit  money.  His  request  is  refused,  whereupon 
he  launches  into  a  supercilious  criticism  of  America  and  American  affairs,  — 
thus  exemplifying  the  "  certain  condescension "  which  is  the  subject  of  the 
essay. 

This  introduction,  which  accords  in  style  with  the  conversational  and  dis- 
cursive character  of  the  essay,  contributes  several  valuable  suggestions  to  the 
thought :  — 

a.  The  whole  furnishes  a  concrete  exemplification  of  the  general  fact  under 
discussion. 

b.  The  mendicancy  of  the  German  is  a  fine  satire  on  his  presumption  in  set- 
ting himself  up  as  a  critic,  and  in  general  on  the  real  qualifications  of  those 
who  are  so  apt  to  be  condescending. 

c.  The  thought,  embodied  in  the  author's  meditation,  of  how  much  our 
home  and  country  is  worth,  is  valuable  as  a  background  and  offset  to  the  criti- 
cisms that  condescending  foreigners  make. 

All  this  shows  that  the  whole,  though  seemingly  quite  unguided  and  digres- 
sive, really  contributes  in  every  part  (unless  we  except  the  fourth  paragraph) 
directly  to  the  better  understanding  and  realization  of  the  theme. 

In  planning  the  introduction  the  most  prevalent  error,  perhaps, 
is  the  tendency  to  begin  the  approach  from  too  remote  a  point, 
and  thus  make  the  introduction  too  long  and  indirect.  It  will  not 
do  to  include  all  that  is  interesting,  or  even  pertinent ;  the  inquiry 
must  rather  be  restricted  rigorously  to  what  is  indispensable. 


272  THE  PLAN. 

NOTE.  —  Washington  Irving  satirizes  such  long  and  roundabout  introduc- 
tions by  beginning  his  Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York  with  the  creation 
of  the  world.  And  then  at  the  end  of  this  elaborate  introduction  he  thus  im- 
plies its  uselessness :  — 

"But  hold;  before  I  proceed  another  step,  I  must  pause  to  take  breath,  and 
recover  from  the  excessive  fatigue  I  have  undergone,  in  preparing  to  begin 
this  most  accurate  of  histories.  And  in  this  I  do  but  imitate  the  example  of  a 
renowned  Dutch  tumbler  of  antiquity,  who  took  a  start  of  three  miles  for  the 
purpose  of  jumping  over  a  hill,  but  having  run  himself  out  of  breath  by  the 
time  he  reached  the  foot,  sat  himself  quietly  down  for  a  few  moments  to  blow, 
and  then  walked  over  it  at  his  leisure." 

Though  the  introduction  of  a  work  is  to  be  written  first,  accord- 
ing to  its  suggested  order,  the  planning  of  it  comes  more  naturally 
after  a  definite  idea  is  obtained  of  what  the  production  is  to  in- 
clude and  how  it  is  to  be  developed.  "  The  last  thing  that  we 
find  in  making  a  book,"  says  Pascal,  "  is  to  know  what  we  must 
put  first." 

As  to  style,  the  introduction  should  aim  merely  at  plainness  and 
directness.  It  is  not  the  place  for  pretentious  or  impassioned  lan- 
guage ;  it  should  start  rather  on  the  subdued  and  unassuming 
plane  where  the  reader  or  hearer  can  begin  and  keep  pace  with  it. 
It  can  be  simple  and  plain,  and  at  the  same  time  arouse  interest 
and  anticipation  :  this  is  its  ideal.  Exceptions  to  this  simple  char- 
acter must  be  found  in  exceptional  circumstances. 

II. 

The  Development. — What  the  introduction  has  called  in  from 
its  general  surroundings  and  concentrated  on  a  single  point  or 
theme,  it  is  now  the  business  of  the  development,  or  body  of  the 
discourse,  to  separate  into  its  component  parts,  and  follow  out 
into  the  various  aspects  and  stages  necessary  to  present  treatment. 
The  suggestions  of  the  theme  are  to  be  examined  anew  and  classi- 
fied in  a  continuous  and  progressive  course  of  thought. 

Of  course  we  cannot  invade  the  writer's  individual  ways  and 
aptitudes  by  laying  down  rules  for  developing  the  resources  of  any 


THE  PLAN.  273 

particular  theme  or  class  of  themes.  We  must  confine  ourselves 
to  noting  general  procedures  and  their  effects,  leaving  the  rest  to 
the  writer's  choice.  And  these  general  procedures  suggest  them- 
selves as  the  answer  to  two  main  questions  here  arising :  how  to 
give  ideas  such  grouping  as  shall  make  them  cohere  in  the  reader's 
mind  and  memory ;  and  how  to  give  them  such  movement  as  shall 
make  them  work  a  desired  effect. 

1.  Grouping. — Laws  of  Association.  —  It  is  the  reader's  mem- 
ory, most  of  all,  that  we  are  to  consult :  in  developing  the  thoughts 
that  compose  our  theme  we  are  to  choose  such  natural  and  sequent 
order  as  shall  be  convenient  for  him  to  retain  and  recall.  What 
this  order  is  we  may  best  ascertain  by  noting  the  laws  according 
to  which  we  ourselves  recall  ideas.  There  are  such  laws,  the  so- 
called  laws  of  association ;  that  is,  certain  principles  of  grouping, 
natural  to  every  mind's  working,  by  which  one  idea  of  a  train  has 
the  power,  when  recalled,  of  bringing  with  it  the  rest. 

Psychologists  note  three  general  ways  in  which  facts  and  ideas, 
cohering  in  one  mind,  may  most  naturally  be  made  to  cohere  in 
another. 

i .  By  the  law  of  contiguity.  That  is,  we  may  count  on  the  co- 
herence of  ideas  that  lie  naturally  next  to  each  other,  in  space,  or 
in  time,  or  in  a  continuous  system  of  thought.  Thus,  for  instance, 
in  remembering  and  so  in  imagining  a  landscape,  the  mind  travels 
spontaneously  from  point  to  point  of  its  general  features,  —  dis- 
tance, middle  distance,  foreground.  In  like  manner  with  the  in- 
cidents making  up  an  event  or  a  history ;  sometimes  one  so  natu- 
rally suggests  its  neighbor  that  much  of  the  whole  can  be  taken 
for  granted.  Obviously  a  large  proportion  of  the  narrative  and 
descriptive  facts  with  which  the  writer  has  to  deal  must  be  grouped 
simply  according  to  their  contiguity. 

EXAMPLES.  —  A  biographical  essay  most  naturally  groups  its  facts  on  the 
principle  of  contiguity,  events  following  each  other  in  order  of  time.  Thus 
Carlyle's  essay  on  "  Count  Cagliostro"  ;  in  the  early  part  of  which,  though 
his  historic  materials  are  very  scanty,  the  author  draws  on  his  imagination,  by 
observing  the  order  of  things  naturally  predicated  of  childhood  —  Infancy, 


274  THE  PLAN. 

Boyhood,  Schooling,  First  Introduction  to  the  World,  etc.  —  and  applying 
them  to  the  known  native  character  of  the  subject. 

Macaulay  follows  the  same  principle  in  the  main  divisions  of  his  essay  on 
"History,"  and  in  the  subdivisions  of  his  first  main  division;  thus:  — 

I.   Characteristics  of  Ancient  Historical  Composition. 
II.   Characteristics  of  Modern  Historical  Composition. 

And  because  these  main  divisions  are  the  two  great  stages  in  the  general 
theme  that  "  history  begins  in  novel  and  ends  in  essay,"  his  plan,  tracing  the 
gradual  evolution  of  historical  composition  from  one  of  these  extremes  to  the 
other,  is  in  the  main  chronological:  Herodotus,  Thucydides,  Xenophon, 
Polybius,  Plutarch,  Livy,  Caesar,  Tacitus,  etc.  The  chief  principle  of  grouping, 
therefore,  is  contiguity  in  time. 

2.  By  the  law  of  similarity  and  contrast.  That  is,  we  may 
count  on  the  coherence  of  facts  and  ideas  that  are  alike,  or  that 
are  in  striking  contrast,  when  grouped  together.  Thus,  for  in- 
stance, one  character  in  history,  or  characteristic  event,  naturally 
suggests  its  like  or  contrast  in  some  other  period  or  country.  This 
law  underlies  the  whole  work  of  illustration,  and  accordingly  is 
much  observed  in  exposition  and  in  popular  appeal. 

EXAMPLES.  —  I.  An  instance  of  a  thought  developed  on  the  principle  of 
similarity  occurs  in  Burke's  Speech  to  the  Electors  of  Bristol.  He  thus  plans 
his  defense  of  his  conduct  in  answer  to  the  second  charge  against  him. 

"  It  has  been  said,  and  it  is  the  second  charge,  that  in  the  questions  of  the 
Irish  trade  I  did  not  consult  the  interest  of  my  constituents,  —  or,  to  speak  out 
strongly,  that  I  rather  acted  as  a  native  of  Ireland  than  as  an  English  member 
of  Parliament."  (Plan  of  the  answer)  :  — 

I.  My  conduct  in  the  Irish  matter  itself. 

1.  True  to  my  invariable  principle,  I  advocated  conciliation. 

2.  Conciliatory  policy  rejected  by  the  English.    Sequel —  Irish  demands 

and  English  disgraceful  concessions. 

3.  Conduct  that  such  a  state  of  affairs  demanded. 

II.  Compared  with  my  like  conduct  in  connection  with  the  American  war. 

1.  Toward  America  also  I  advocated  conciliation. 

2.  Conciliation  likewise  rejected  by  the  English.     Sequel  —  American 

scorn  and  English  disgraceful  proposals  of  concession. 

3.  My  conduct  in  such  a  state  of  affairs  vindicated. 

The  aim  of  this  second  half  of  the  defense  was  avowedly  "  to  read  what  was 


THE  PLAN.  275 

approaching  in  Ireland  in  the  black  and  bloody  characters  of  the  American 
war";  and  it  will  be  observed  that  not  only  is  the  second  main  division  made 
carefully  similar  to  the  first,  but  the  order  and  subjects  of  the  subdivisions  are 
studiously  parallel. 

2.  The  close  of  Thackeray's  lecture  on  George  IV.  contains  a  striking 
example  of  contrast  employed  to  develop  a  thought.    Two  contrasted  scenes 
dating  from  the  same  month  and  year  are  given:    the  opening  of  Carleton 
House  by  Prince  George,  and  the  resignation  of  his  commission  by  General 
George  Washington ;   whereupon  the  writer  asks :  — 

"Which  was  the  most  splendid  spectacle  ever  witnessed; — the  opening 
feast  of  Prince  George  in  London,  or  the  resignation  of  Washington  ?  Which 
is  the  noble  character  for  after  ages  to  admire; — yon  fribble  dancing  in  lace 
and  spangles,  or  yonder  hero  who  sheathes  his  sword  after  a  life  of  spotless 
honor,  a  purity  unreproached,  a  courage  indomitable,  and  a  consummate  vic- 
tory? Which  of  these  is  the  true  gentleman?"  (The  sentences  immediately 
succeeding  are  quoted  on  page  98.) 

3.  By  the  law  of  cause  and  effect.     That  is,  we  can  count  on 
the  coherence  of  any  two  facts  when  we  can  show  that  one  is  the 
cause  of  the  other.     No  impulse  in  thought  is  more  spontaneous 
than  the  impulse  to  inquire  after  causes  and  consequences.     In 
philosophical  history,  in  argument,  and  in  some  forms  of  exposi- 
tion, this  principle  of  grouping  is  very  extensively  employed.     It 
is  the  most  intimate  way  in  which  ideas  may  be  associated,  and 
hence  is  much  depended  on  in  abstruse  material  whose  sequence, 
being  logical,  is  hard  to  follow. 

EXAMPLES.  —  I .  To  portray  a  principle  or  a  state  of  things,  and  then  trace 
its  cause,  was  a  frequent  method  of  F.  W.  Robertson's  in  planning  his  sermons. 
For  example,  a  sermon,  "  The  Faith  of  the  Centurion,"  on  the  text  Matt.  viii. 
10,  is  thus  planned :  — 

I.  The  faith  which  was  commended. 
II.   The  causes  of  the  commendation. 

So  again  in  a  sermon  on  "  Worldliness,"  on  the  text  I  John  ii.  15-17,  the  main 
points  of  the  development  are :  — 

I.  The  nature  of  the  forbidden  world. 
II.   The  reason  for  which  it  is  forbidden. 

2.  Ruskin's  lecture  on  "  The  Deteriorative  Power  of  Conventional  Art  over 
Nations,"  is,  as  the  title  indicates,  built  on  the  principle  of  cause  and  effect. 


276  THE  PLAN. 

combined  with  contrast;  its  purpose  being  to  draw  the  effects  of  conventional 
art,  and  contrast  the  effects  of  honest  art. 

Of  course  these  laws  of  association  may  be  combined  in  many 
ways,  even  in  the  same  work.  The  main  divisions  may  follow  one 
law,  subdivisions  another.  While  the  nature  of  the  material  may 
cause  one  grouping  principle  to  predominate,  others  may  occa- 
sionally be  employed,  for  distinction,  or  for  variety,  or  for  a  more 
searching  presentation  of  the  idea.  Thus  in  the  application  and 
diversification  of  these  laws  the  writer  has  the  utmost  freedom ;  but 
he  has  no  freedom  to  discard  them  altogether.  Unless  some  law 
of  association  can  be  clearly  traced,  the  construction  seems  arbi- 
trary and  crude,  not  being  conformed  to  the  natural  working  of 
the  mind. 

2.  Movement. — Two  Orders  of  Thought-Building. — Inde- 
pendently of  the  principles  by  which  ideas  are  associated,  there 
are  two  contrasted  orders  in  which  a  structure  of  thought  may  be 
built,  which,  to  give  names  indicative  of  their  character,  we  may 
call  the  order  of  investigation  and  the  order  of  enforcement. 

i.  The  order  of  investigation,  otherwise  called  the  inductive 
order,  is  somewhat  analogous  to  the  suspended  or  periodic  sen- 
tence. That  is,  beginning  with  the  statement  of  individual  facts 
or  truths,  it  gradually  evolves  from  the  grouping  and  classification 
of  these  a  general  conclusion  giving  the  significance  of  the  whole. 
Thus  it  works  from  particulars  to  generals,  from  facts  to  principles, 
from  what  is  known  and  acknowledged  to  what  is  unknown  and 
sought. 

The  advantage  of  this  order  is  that  it  gives  the  evidence  before 
it  draws  the  conclusion ;  so  that  the  conclusion,  when  it  comes,  is 
already  substantiated.  This  fact  suggests  the  kind  of  truths  to 
which  the  inductive  order  is  best  adapted ;  namely,  truths  new  and 
strange,  or  truths  that,  merely  asserted  and  not  proved,  would 
rouse  doubt  and  opposition.  "  If  my  object,"  says  George  Henry 
Lewes, 1 "  is  to  convince  you  of  a  general  truth,  or  to  impress  you 

1  In  Fortnightly  Review,  Vol.  II.  p.  701. 


THE  PLAN.  277 

with  a  feeling,  which  you  are  not  already  prepared  to  accept,  it  is 
obvious  that  the  most  effective  method  is  the  inductive,  which 
leads  your  mind  upon  a  culminating  wave  of  evidence  or  emotion 
to  the  very  point  I  aim  at." 

The  difficulty  of  this  order  is  that,  like  the  periodic  sentence,  it 
compels  more  attention  and  greater  effort  of  the  memory  to  hold 
facts  whose  significance  and  application  are  not  yet  apparent.  In 
using  it,  therefore,  the  writer  should  work  with  this  difficulty  in 
mind,  and  seek  as  far  as  may  be  to  foster  such  expectancy  as  will 
enable  the  reader  to  overcome  it. 

EXAMPLE.  —  An  interesting  example  of  this  order  occurs  in  the  middle  of 
Macaulay's  essay  on  History,  where,  after  having  asserted  that  modern  histo- 
rians far  surpass  the  ancients  in  the  philosophy  of  history,  an  assertion  which 
he  defends  at  some  length,  he  thus  inquires  after  the  cause :  — 

"  To  what  is  this  change  to  be  attributed  ?  Partly,  no  doubt,  to  the  dis- 
covery of  printing,  a  discovery  which  has  not  only  diffused  knowledge  widely, 
but,  as  we  have  already  observed,  has  also  introduced  into  reasoning  a  pre- 
cision unknown  in  those  ancient  communities,  in  which  information  was,  for 
the  most  part,  conveyed  orally.  There  was,  we  suspect,  another  cause,  less 
obvious,  but  still  more  powerful." 

What  this  cause  was,  however,  does  not  become  apparent  for  nine  para- 
graphs, the  intervening  space  being  devoted  to  detailing  the  facts  that  go  to 
make  it  intelligible.  The  following  plan  of  those  paragraphs  will  show  this 
inductive  structure :  — 

I.  The  spirit  of  ancient  nations  was  exclusive. 

p.  (a.  The  Greeks  cared  only  for  themselves. 

(  b.  The  Romans  cared  only  for  themselves  and  the  Greeks. 
Pff         (  a.  This  produced  narrowness  and  monotony  of  thought. 

(  b.  Aggravated  to  intellectual  torpor  by  despotism  of  Caesars. 

II.  The  torpor  of  intellect  broken  by  two  revolutions. 
a.  The  moral  revolution  —  Christianity. 


I.  Facts: 


b.  Relapse  into  worse  intellectual  barrenness. 


c .  The  political  revolution  —  invasion  of  northern  nations. 

1a.  Invasion  threw  the  countries  open  to  each  other. 
b.  Thus  opening  broader  field  for  study  of  political  facts 
and  principles. 

Conclusion :   "  Hence  it  is  that,  in  generalization,  the  writers  of  modern 
times  have  far  surpassed  those  of  antiquity.    The  historians  of  our  own  coun- 


278  THE  PLAN. 

try  are  unequalled  in  depth  and  precision  of  reason;  and  even  in  the  works 
of  our  mere  compilers,  we  often  meet  with  speculations  beyond  the  reach  of 
Thucydides  or  Tacitus." 

Here,  with  only  a  vague  hint  that  "  there  was  another  cause,"  we  start  at  a 
remote  point  and  advance,  each  step  adding  a  little  to  the  preceding,  until  at 
the  end  the  cause  comes  into  view. 

2.  The  order  of  enforcement,  otherwise  called  the  deductive 
order,  takes  a  direction  opposite  to  the  above.  That  is,  begin- 
ning with  the  general  truth  or  principle  it  would  enforce,  it  proves 
and  applies  by  giving  the  minor  principles,  examples,  facts,  that 
make  for  it,  until  down  to  the  minutest  application  it  is  made 
clear  and  cogent.  Thus  this  order  works  from  generals  to  par- 
ticulars, from  principles  to  facts,  from  a  truth  which  though  known 
is  not  sufficiently  observed  to  unexpected  applications  in  familiar 
experience. 

The  advantage  of  this  order  is  that  from  the  outset  the  truth  to 
be  illustrated  is  known ;  so  that  at  every  step  the  bearing  of  every 
part  is  obvious.  It  is  especially  adapted,  therefore,  to  the  treat- 
ment of  important  practical  truths  of  life  and  conduct,  truths  that 
people  are  not  so  much  inclined  to  dispute  as  to  neglect,  and 
whose  significance  centres  in  their  application.  "The1  deductive 
method  is  best  when  I  wish  to  direct  the  light  of  familiar  truths 
and  roused  emotions  upon  new  particulars,  or  upon  details  in  un- 
suspected relation  to  those  truths ;  and  when  I  wish  the  attention 
to  be  absorbed  by  these  particulars  which  are  of  interest  in  them- 
selves, not  upon  the  general  truths  which  are  of  no  present  interest 
except  in  as  far  as  they  light  up  these  details." 

A  disadvantage  to  be  guarded  against  in  this  order  is  the  fact 
that,  the  truth  in  discussion  being  known,  there  is  no  stimulus  of 
interest  in  anticipating  what  is  unknown,  but  this  can  be  overcome 
by  giving  freshness  and  vigor  to  the  details. 

EXAMPLE.  —  The  following  section  from  Burke's  Speech  on  the  East  India 
Bill  illustrates  the  deductive  order,  by  beginning  with  the  most  general  and 
inclusive  consideration,  which  it  divides  into  headings  less  general,  and  these 

1  Quoted  also  from  George  Henry  Lewes,  as  on  page  276. 


THE  PLAN.  279 

again   into   still   less   general,   until    it   reaches   the   most   particular  state- 
ments :  — 

II.   Whether  the  East  India  Company's  abuse  of  their  trust  be  an  abuse  of 
great  atrocity. 

A.  Their  conduct  viewed  in  its  political  light. 

1.  As  to  abuse  of  external  federal  trust. 

a.  They  have  sold  the  native  princes,  states,  and  officials. 

b.  They  have  broken  every  treaty. 

c.  They  have  ruined  all  who  confided  in  them. 

2.  As  to  abuse  of  internal  administration. 

a.  They  have  been  only  a  curse,  not  an  advantage,  to  the 

country. 

b.  Their  rule  has  reacted  to  the  hurt  of  society  at  home. 

c.  Their  rule  has  been  an  abuse  to  tributary  governments. 

B.  Their  conduct  viewed  in  its  commercial  light. — The  tests  of  mer- 

cantile dealing  by  which  they  have  failed :  — 

1.  Buying  cheap  and  selling  dear. 

2.  Strictness  in  driving  bargains. 

3.  Watchfulness  over  honesty  of  clerks. 

4.  Exactness  in  accounts. 

5.  Care  in  estimating  and  providing  for  profits. 

6.  Care  in  readiness  to  meet  bills. 

Here  all  the  subdivisions  lead  out  toward  individual  applications  or  illustra- 
tions of  the  general  assertion  made  at  the  beginning. 

In  a  word,  then,  "  a  growing  thought  requires  the  inductive  ex- 
position, an  applied  thought  the  deductive." 

The  two  orders  may  be  combined  in  the  same  discourse ;  that 
is,  while  the  main  divisions  proceed  in  one  order,  subdivisions 
may  take  the  other ;  or  the  manner  of  procedure  may  be  shifted 
in  the  various  sections  of  the  work,  according  to  the  writer's  sense 
of  what  will  be  most  effective. 

III. 

The  Conclusion. — The  object  of  a  formal  conclusion  at  the 
end  of  a  literary  work  is  to  gather  together  the  various  threads  of 
argument,  thought,  or  appeal,  and  so  to  apply  them  as  to  leave  on 


280  THE  PLAN. 

the  reader's  mind  a  unity  of  impression  corresponding  to  the  aim 
of  the  discourse.  It  is  important  that  there  be  one  comprehen- 
sive effect,  one  central  truth,  by  which  the  work  shall  be  remem- 
bered. 

Relation  of  the  Conclusion  to  the  Body  of  Discourse.  — 
While  the  body  of  discourse  has  tended  to  diversity,  following  as 
it  did  the  radiations  of  the  thought  into  its  various  divisions  and 
aspects,  the  conclusion,  like  the  introduction,  works  to  a  unity ; 
and  thus,  in  a  sense,  the  discourse  ends  where  it  began.  But  it 
does  not  end  as  it  began.  The  introduction,  as  we  have  seen, 
called  in  the  thought  from  its  surroundings  and  concentrated  it  on 
the  theme ;  the  conclusion  now  gathers  up  the  theme  anew  from 
its  various  components,  and  concentrates  it  on  an  application,  or 
dynamic  point,  corresponding  to  the  spirit  and  design  of  the 
whole  work. 

Form  and  Style  of  the  Conclusion.  —  As  of  other  elements,  we 
have  also  of  the  conclusion,  to  note  different  characters,  according 
as  the  work  is  of  the  intellectual  type,  or  of  the  impassioned. 

i.  In  discourse  of  the  intellectual  type,  the  conclusion  is  gen- 
erally a  summary  of  preceding  arguments  and  facts.  This  sum- 
mary is  made,  where  the  individual  arguments  are  important  and 
distinct,  by  a  recapitulation,  sometimes  in  the  same  order  in  which 
they  were  given,  sometimes  in  inverse  order.  In  other  cases  the 
last  argument  or  division  may  form  the  conclusion ;  but  only 
when  it  gathers  into  itself  the  force  and  significance  of  all  that  has 
gone  before.  The  ideal  way,  no  doubt,  is  to  construct  the  dis- 
course in  such  climax  or  augmenting  interest  that  its  very  momen- 
tum shall  bear  it  onward  to  a  natural,  not  labored  or  artificial, 
conclusion. 

EXAMPLES. —  I.  An  example  of  simple  recapitulation  by  way  of  conclusion 
is  found  in  Herbert  Spencer's  essay  on  "The  Social  Organism,"  whose  theme 
has  already  been  given,  page  254. 

"  Such,  then,  is  a  general  outline  of  the  evidence  which  justifies,  in  detail, 
the  comparison  of  societies  to  living  organisms.  That  they  gradually  increase 
in  mass;  that  they  become  little  by  little  more  complex;  that  at  the  same 


THE  PLAN.  281 

time  their  parts  grow  more  mutually  dependent;  and  that  they  continue  to 
live  and  grow  as  wholes,  while  successive  generations  of  their  units  appear 
and  disappear ;  are  broad  peculiarities  which  bodies  politic  display  in  common 
with  all  living  bodies;  and  in  which  they  and  living  bodies  differ  from  every- 
thing else.  And  on  carrying  out  the  comparison  in  detail,  we  find  that  these 
major  analogies  involve  many  minor  analogies,  far  closer  than  might  have  been 
expected.  To  these  we  would  gladly  have  added  others.  We  had  hoped  to 
say  something  respecting  the  different  types  of  social  organization,  and  some- 
thing also  on  special  metamorphoses;  but  we  have  reached  our  assigned  limits." 

2.  Macaulay's  essay  on  "  History,"  whose  plan  is  partly  described  on  page 
274  above,  gathers  up  at  the  end  the  significance  of  the  whole  thought  by 
describing  the  perfect  historian.  Five  paragraphs  are  devoted  to  this  descrip- 
tion, the  last  of  which  is  as  follows :  — 

"  A  historian,  such  as  we  have  been  attempting  to  describe,  would  indeed 
be  an  intellectual  prodigy.  In  his  mind,  powers  scarcely  compatible  with  each 
other  must  be  tempered  into  an  exquisite  harmony.  We  shall  sooner  see 
another  Shakespeare  or  another  Homer.  The  highest  excellence  to  which 
any  single  faculty  can  be  brought  would  be  less  surprising  than  such  a  happy 
and  delicate  combination  of  qualities.  Yet  the  contemplation  of  imaginary 
models  is  not  an  unpleasant  or  useless  employment  of  the  mind.  It  cannot 
indeed  produce  perfection;  but  it  produces  improvement,  and  nourishes  that 
generous  and  liberal  fastidiousness  which  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  strong- 
est sensibility  to  merit,  and  which,  while  it  exalts  our  conceptions  of  the  art, 
does  not  render  us  unjust  to  the  artist." 

2.  In  the  impassioned  type,  the  conclusion  gathers  into  itself 
more  the  spirit  of  the  discourse,  or  its  significance  as  related  to 
life  and  conduct.  In  summarizing  or  recapitulating  arguments  it 
takes  them  up  by  their  practical  application,  aiming  to  leave  the 
impression  of  appeal.  Or  some  new  application,  kept  in  view  but 
not  mentioned  before,  may  hold  up  the  thought  in  an  unexpected 
light,  and  thus  form  the  culmination  of  the  discourse. 

EXAMPLES. —  i.  A  magnificent  example  of  the  impassioned  conclusion,  too 
well  known  to  need  quoting  here,  is  the  close  of  Webster's  Reply  to  Hayne. 

2.  The  following,  which  is  the  conclusion  of  Ruskin's  lecture  on  Conven- 
tional Art,  at  once  recapitulates  the  two  main  divisions  and  gives  them  an 
application  in  conduct :  — 

"  Make,  then,  your  choice,  boldly  and  consciously,  for  one  way  or  other  it 
must  be  made.  On  the  dark  and  dangerous  side  are  set,  the  pride  which  de- 
lights in  self-contemplation  —  the  indolence  which  rests  in  unquestioned  forms 


282  THE  PLAN. 

—  the  ignorance  that  despises  what  is  fairest  among  God's  creatures,  and  the  dull- 
ness that  denies  what  is  marvellous  in  His  working :  there  is  a  life  of  monotony 
for  your  own  souls,  and  of  misguiding  for  those  of  others.  And,  on  the  other 
side,  is  open  to  your  choice  the  life  of  the  crowned  spirit,  moving  as  a  light  in 
creation  —  discovering  always  —  illuminating  always,  gaining  every  hour  in 
strength,  yet  bowed  down  every  hour  into  deeper  humility ;  sure  of  being  right 
in  its  aim,  sure  of  being  irresistible  in  its  progress;  happy  in  what  it  has 
securely  done  —  happier  in  what,  day  by  day,  it  may  as  securely  hope;  happi- 
est at  the  close  of  life,  when  the  right  hand  begins  to  forget  its  cunning,  to 
remember,  that  there  never  was  a  touch  of  the  chisel  or  the  pencil  it  wielded, 
but  has  added  to  the  knowledge,  and  quickened  the  happiness  of  mankind." 

As  to  its  style,  the  conclusion  has  not  the  motive  for  plainness 
that  we  have  noticed  in  the  introduction.  It  takes  influence  from 
the  character  of  the  discourse  preceding  it ;  and  thus,  if  there  is 
emotion  or  depth  of  thought  to  warrant,  it  may  fittingly  adopt 
imagery,  rhythm,  somewhat  longer  and  more  rolling  sentence- 
structure,  in  a  word,  an  elevated  style ;  being  indeed  a  kind  of 
extended  cadence.  If  it  is  important  that  a  sentence  should  not 
end  with  some  insignificant  element,  it  is  much  more  important 
that  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  work  should  maintain  its  distinc- 
tion to  the  last. 

NOTE.  —  The  elaborately  suspended  sentence  quoted  from  Cardinal  New- 
man on  page  147  above,  which  forms  the  conclusion  of  his  lecture  on  "  Litera- 
ture," illustrates  the  style  that  a  conclusion  may  take  when  it  gathers  momentum 
from  what  has  gone  before.  So  does  the  conclusion  just  quoted  from  Ruskin. 
Even  in  the  purely  intellectual  type,  the  style  of  the  conclusion  is  not  infre- 
quently heightened  to  a  considerable  degree. 

III.   MEANS  OF   PRESERVING  CONTINUITY. 

Before  closing  our  discussion  of  the  plan  of  discourse,  a  few 
words  need  to  be  said  about  the  means  employed  to  foster  unity 
and  continuity  of  structure,  and  to  make  the  progress  of  the 
thought  clear  from  point  to  point. 

Transitions.  —  A  transition,  as  the  name  indicates,  is  a  passage 
over  from  one  division  of  the  thought  to  another.  It  is  an  interme- 
diate statement,  in  \vhich  is  found  something  retained  from  what 


THE  PLAN.  283 

precedes,  and  something  anticipatory  of  what  follows.  But  fur- 
ther, it  should  be  a  distinct  thought  in  itself,  not  a  mere  catch- 
word ;  otherwise  it  does  not  truly  make  a  bridge  between  thoughts. 
The  graceful  management  of  transitions  is  one  of  the  most  deli- 
cate and  difficult  of  the  writer's  achievements. 

There  are  many  occasions  for  transition,  great  and  small,  in  the 
course  of  a  literary  work.  Concerning  almost  every  new  thought 
the  skillful  writer  will  consider  whether  it  ought  to  have  some 
preparation,  some  intermediate  aspect  supplied,  in  order  to  add 
itself  naturally  to  what  precedes.  The  greater  transitions  occur 
between  the  main  divisions,  and  especially,  between  the  three 
fundamental  elements.  To  launch  a  course  of  thought  success- 
fully, after  the  introduction,  so  as  not  to  leave  the  transition 
abrupt  or  arbitrary,  is  perhaps  hardest  of  all. 

EXAMPLES.  —  An  example  of  a  transitional  paragraph,  from  Macaulay,  has 
already  been  given,  on  page  212. 

In  an  essay  on  "  Race  and  Language,"  by  Edward  A.  Freeman,  the  leading 
thought  is  that  "  the  new  lines  of  scientific  inquiry  which  have  been  opened  in 
modern  times  [namely,  regarding  race  and  language]  have  had  a  distinct  and 
deep  effect  upon  the  politics  of  the  age."  This  is  introduced  by  an  incident 
"  of  a  deputation  of  Hungarian  students  going  to  Constantinople  to  present  a 
sword  of  honor  to  an  Ottoman  general,"  on  the  ground  of  ancient  kindred 
between  the  Magyar  and  Ottoman  races.  The  transition  from  this  introduc- 
tion to  the  development  is  thus  made :  — 

"To  allege  the  real  or  supposed  primeval  kindred  between  Magyars  and 
Ottomans  as  a  ground  for  political  action,  or  at  least  for  political  sympathy, 
in  the  affairs  of  the  present  moment,  is  an  extreme  case  —  some  may  be 
inclined  to  call  it  a  reductio  ad  absurdum  —  of  a  whole  range  of  doctrines 
and  sentiments  which  have  in  modern  days  gained  a  great  power  over  men's 
minds." 

By  this  intermediate  consideration,  uniting  the  concrete  illustration  with 
the  general  statement,  the  way  is  now  open  for  the  leading  thought  cited 
above. 

Indications  of  Structure.  —  It  is  not  alone  by  numerals  that  the 
successive  steps  of  a  plan  are  indicated.  These  can  at  best  mark 
merely  the  main  divisions,  and  may  very  easily  be  made  heavy 
and  pedantic.  But  in  well  articulated  discourse  frequent  and  un- 


284  THE  PLAN. 

obtrusive  signs  of  structure  abound,  in  the  form  of  connectives, 
words  of  transition,  inversions  for  adjustment,  and  the  like ; 
devices  that  lead  the  reader  onward,  and  keep  him  aware  of  the 
stages  of  progress,  without  seeming  to  do  so.  These  are  the 
"  internal  indications  of  plan,"  which  have  already  been  mentioned 
(page  265)  as  demanding  the  first  care  in  determining  the  structure. 
Such  indications  of  structure  are  elements  of  discourse  in  which 
we  find  increasing  care  and  copiousness  as  writers  gain  more 
experience  of  the  interpreting  capacities  of  their  readers.  Young 
writers  are  too  apt  to  neglect  them,  and  their  work  becomes 
blind  and  vague  in  consequence.  Older  writers  see  better  the 
helpfulness,  and  are  less  sensitive  to  the  formality,  of  laying  out 
their  thoughts  as  thoroughly  as  may  be  useful  for  clearness  and 
definiteness. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. —  I.  The  following,  from  De  Quincey,  will  of  course  be 
recognized  as  rather  overdoing  the  matter :  — 

"  Under  this  original  peculiarity  of  Paganism,  there  arose  two  consequences, 
which  I  will  mark  by  the  Greek  letters  a  and  /3.  The  latter  I  will  notice  in 
its  order,  first  calling  the  reader's  attention  to  the  consequence  marked  a, 
which  is  this,"  etc. 

2.  Consider,  on  the  other  hand,  the  helpfulness  of  the  following  indica- 
tions of  structure,  in  a  chapter  on  "  The  Mountain  Villa,"  in  Ruskin's  Poetry 
of  Architecture.  There  are  no  numerals  employed;  but  the  transitional  para- 
graphs, together  with  the  opening  sentences  from  several  successive  paragraphs, 
will  show  how  the  progress  of  the  thought  is  marked. 

"We  have  contemplated  the  rural  dwelling  of  the  peasant;  let  us  next  con- 
sider the  ruralized  domicile  of  the  gentleman :  and  here,  as  before,  we  shall 
first  determine  what  is  theoretically  beautiful,  and  then  observe  how  far  our 
expectations  are  fulfilled  in  individual  buildings.  But  a  few  preliminary 
observations  are  necessary. 

"  Man,  the  peasant,  is  a  being  of  more  marked  national  character,  than 
man,  the  educated  and  refined.  [Paragraph  of  amplification.] 

"  Again :  man,  in  his  hours  of  relaxation,  when  he  is  engaged  in  the  pur- 
suits of  mere  pleasure,  is  less  national  than  when  he  is  under  the  influence  of 
any  of  the  more  violent  feelings  which  agitate  every-day  life.  [Paragraph  of 
amplification.] 

"Without  further  preface,  therefore,  let  us  endeavor  to  ascertain  what 
would  be  theoretically  beautiful,  on  the  shore,  or  among  the  scenery  of  the 


AMPLIFICATION.  285 

Larian  Lake,  preparatory  to  a  sketch  of  the  general  features  of  those  villas 
which  exist  there,  in  too  great  a  multitude  to  admit,  on  our  part,  of  much 
individual  detail. 

"  For  the  general  tone  of  the  scenery,  we  may  refer,  etc. 

"  Now,  as  to  the  situation  of  the  cottage,  we  have  already  seen,  etc.  .  .  . 
but  we  cannot  have  this  extreme  humility  in  the  villa,  etc. 

"  As  regards  the  form  of  the  cottage,  we  have  seen,  etc.  .  .  .  But  .  .  .  the 
villa  must  be  placed  where,  etc. 

"  We  shall  now  proceed  to  the  situation  and  form  of  the  villa.  As  regards 
situation,  etc. 

"  We  shall  now  consider  the  form  of  the  villa."     Etc. 

Thus,  for  page  after  page,  the  reader  is  conducted  through  a  consecutive 
and  naturally  developing  thought. 


SECTION  THIRD. 

AMPLIFICATION. 

IN  the  construction  of  the  plan,  the  main  ideas  of  the  discourse 
have  been  determined,  in  their  mutual  relations,  from  beginning  to 
end.  As  yet,  however,  they  are  expressed  only  in  germ.  They 
need  to  be  taken  up  anew  and  endowed  with  life ;  to  be  clothed 
in  a  fitting  dress  of  explanatory,  illustrative,  and  enforcing  thought. 
This  is  the  office  of  rhetorical  amplification. 

Amplification,  the  final  process  of  composition,  is  the  meeting- 
ground  of  invention  and  style  ;  the  process,  that  is,  wherein  ques- 
tions of  matter  and  manner  must  share  equally  the  writer's  atten- 
tion. Whatever,  therefore,  is  introduced  at  this  stage  into  the 
production  must  stand  a  double  test ;  and  the  question  how  a 
thing  shall  be  said  is  as  vital  to  the  life  of  the  production  as  is  the 
question  what  the  thing  said  shall  be. 

The  Writer's  Mood  in  Amplification.  — To  carry  on  the  work 
of  amplification  requires  a  different  mood  from  that  in  which  the 
plan  was  made.  That  required  severe  discriminating  thought ; 
this  requires  fervid  thinking.  That  was  the  work  of  intellect  and 
judgment,  gathering,  weighing,  and  distributing  the  main  thoughts 


286  AMPLIFICA  TION. 

of  the  discourse,  with  a  view  to  their  logical  order  and  effective- 
ness. This  requires  also  that  the  writer  enter  into  his  work  with 
heart  and  feeling ;  he  must  himself  be  fired  with  the  emotion  he 
would  impart  to  others,  or  inspired  with  the  greatness  and  impor- 
tance of  his  thought,  else  his  work  will  be  but  tedious  and  lifeless. 
Having  determined  on  his  plan,  let  him  surrender  himself  fearlessly 
to  the  current  of  his  thought ;  let  him  be  filled  and  fired  with  it 
anew,  as  if  it  had  not  been  coldly  analyzed.  Nor  should  he  be 
the  slave  of  his  own  prearranged  plan  of  discourse ;  that  is,  he 
should  not  let  it  chill  the  glow  of  his  thinking.  The  mind  often 
works  more  vigorously  in  amplification  than  in  planning ;  and  so 
the  progress  of  actual  composition  may  suggest  a  better  arrange- 
ment of  some  points.  If  so,  let  the  work  of  planning  be  re- 
opened ;  and  let  not  the  writer  shun  the  rewriting  and  rearrang- 
ing thus  necessitated.  Let  every  smallest  part,  as  it  passes  under 
the  creative  process,  be  for  the  time  as  important  as  the  whole  dis- 
course, until  every  detail  can  be  viewed  as  adapted  to  promote  its 
own  purpose  and  the  purpose  of  the  whole. 

> 
I.    USES  OF  AMPLIFICATION. 

Amplification  not  always  of  Advantage.  —  It  is  not  always 
necessary  to  the  life  and  distinction  of  a  thought  that  it  be  fol- 
lowed out  in  detailed,  amplified  form.  Not  infrequently  the  very 
opposite  treatment  is  more  effective.  Some  ideas,  from  their 
nature  or  from  the  part  they  play  in  the  composition,  should  be 
expressed  as  tersely  and  sententiously  as  possible,  or  should  be 
merely  hinted  and  left  to  work  their  way  by  suggestion.  It  gives 
vigor  to  the  work  when  a  considerable  proportion  of  such  con- 
densed material  is  interspersed  with  the  rest ;  and  indeed  it  may 
be  said  that  all  the  leading  ideas,  if  expanded  in  some  places, 
should  be  contracted  to  a  brief  and  telling  statement  in  others. 
"  The  art  of  putting  things,"  so  that  much  shall  be  said  in  little 
space,  is  a  very  valuable  accomplishment.1 

1 "  Every  expedient  which  reduces  circumlocutory  expression  promotes  the  power 
and  the  habit  of  condensed  thinking.  A  taste  for  short  words,  for  Saxon  words 


AMPLIFICA  TION.  287 

An  indication  of  the  estimate  people  set  on  unamplified  thought 
is  seen  in  the  fact  that  every  nation  has  its  distinct  body  of  gnomic 
or  aphoristic  literature,  in  the  shape  of  popular  proverbs,  bans 
mots,  pregnant  phrases,  and  the  like.  These  all  represent  practi- 
cal thought  and  precept  reduced  to  its  most  sententious  form; 
and  there  is  perhaps  no  other  form  of  literature  that  exerts  more 
influence,  and  gives  more  universal  pleasure. 

NOTE.  —  Some  of  the  best  known  collections  of  aphoristic  truth  are :  The 
Book  of  Proverbs,  Pascal's  Thoughts,  Poor  Richard's  Sayings,  Hare's  Guesses 
at  Truth,  and  Helps's  Thoughts  in  the  Cloister  and  the  Crowd.  Besides  these 
the  works  of  such  writers  as  Bacon,  Landor,  and  Emerson  are  valued  as  being 
especially  rich  in  wise  and  pithy  sayings. 

The  fact  that  amplification  may  or  may  not  be  of  advantage 
dictates  that  in  the  articulation  of  his  work  the  writer  keep  con- 
stantly in  mind  the  demands  of  proportion.  Not  all  ideas  will 
bear  to  be  repeated  and  particularized,  without  overbalancing  their 
true  proportionate  importance.  Some  should  be  dispatched  in  a 
mere  suggestion,  or  occupy  only  the  subordinate  clause  of  a  sen- 
tence ;  while  others  may  require  several  sentences,  or  even  be 
worthy  of  a  digression  or  excursus.  The  maintenance  of  a  true 
proportion  in  the  relative  bulk  and  prominence  of  ideas  is  one  of 
the  most  delicate  problems  of  invention. 

NOTE.  —  In  McMaster's  "  History  of  the  American  People,"  which  aims  in 
five  volumes  to  delineate  our  country's  progress  from  the  Revolution  to  the 
Civil  War,  the  description  of  our  forefathers'  domestic  surroundings,  interest- 
ing and  valuable  though  it  is,  would  seem  to  be  carried  to  disproportionate 
minuteness  in  the  following :  — 

"  In  the  corners  of  the  rooms,  or  on  the  landing  of  the  stairs,  stood  the  high 
clocks  of  English  make,  many  of  which  yet  remain  to  attest  the  excellence  of 
the  manufacture.  Some  were  surmounted  by  an  allegorical  representation  of 

for  unqualified  substantives,  for  crisp  sentences,  helps  the  thinking  power  to  work 
in  close  quarters.  A  writer  who  acquires  a  fondness  for  speaking  brevities  learns 
to  think  in  brevities.  Happy  is  the  man  whose  habit  it  is  to  think  laconically. 
There  are  few  things  in  which  the  reaction  of  style  on  thought  and  on  the  thinking 
force  is  so  obvious  as  in  the  growth  of  this  condensing  power."  —  Phelps, 
"  Theory  of  Preaching,"  p.  447. 


288  AMPLIFICA  TION. 

Time.  Others  had  a  moving  disk  to  illustrate  the  phases  of  the  moon  and 
show  when  it  was  crescent,  when  in  the  second  quarter,  and  when  full.  Still 
others  at  the  final  stroke  of  every  hour  chimed  forth  a  tune  which,  when  the 
Sabbath  came  round,  was  such  a  one  as  our  grandfathers  sang  to  their  hymns 
in  meeting." 

If  in  all  parts  the  detail  were  carried  down  to  so  fine  a  point  as  the  classifi- 
cation of  clocks  in  private  dwellings,  where  would  the  history  be  at  the  end  of 
the  fifth  volume  ? 

Why  Amplify  at  All  ?  —  Of  course  the  foregoing  praise  of  sen- 
tentious expression  contemplates  only  one  side  of  the  literary  art. 
Amplification  also  has  its  indispensable  uses ;  it  is  by  no  means 
synonymous  with  platitude,  nor  is  it  mere  dilution  of  the  thought. 
Detailed  thought  is  as  necessary  in  its  place  as  laconic  thought. 
What  purpose  then  does  amplification  subserve  ? 

Three  principal  uses  may  be  noted  and  exemplified. 

1 .  To  give  the  true  extent,  limits,  and  applications  of  the  idea. 
As  briefly  given  or  indicated,  an  assertion  may  be  too  sweeping ; 
or  it  may  be  a  half-truth  needing  to  be  guarded  and  supplemented ; 
or  its  present  application  may  be  unusual,  needing  therefore  to  be 
defined.     To  provide  for  such  relations  of  the  idea  is  the  office  of 
amplifying  comment. 

ILLUSTRATION.  — This  use  of  amplification  may  be  exemplified  by  the  begin- 
ning of  Carlyle's  essay  on  "  Characteristics,"  of  which  the  sententia,  or  ground 
assertion  is,  — 

THE  HEALTHY  KNOW  NOT  OF  THEIR  HEALTH,   BUT  ONLY  THE  SICK. 
The  writer's  first  step  with  this  is  to  broaden  its  application,  for  his  present 
purpose :  — 

—  "  this  is  the  Physician's  Aphorism  ;  and  applicable  in  a  far  wider  sense 
than  he  gives  it.  We  may  say  it  holds  no  less  in  moral,  intellectual,  political, 
poetical,  than  in  merely  corporeal  therapeutics  ;  that  wherever,  or  in  what 
shape  soever,  powers  of  the  sort  which  can  be  named  -vital  are  at  work,  herein 
lies  the  test  of  their  working  right  or  working  wrong." 

2.  To  give  body  to  an  idea,  by  dwelling  on  it  long  enough  for 
the  reader's  mind  to  grasp  and  realize  it.     "  Time  must  be  given," 
says  De  Quincey,  *  "  for  the  intellect  to  eddy  about  a  truth,  and  to 

1  De  Quincey,  Essay  on  "  Style,"  Part  I. 


AMPLIFICA  T10N.  289 

appropriate  its  bearings.  There  is  a  sort  of  previous  lubrication, 
such  as  the  boa-constrictor  applies  to  any  subject  of  digestion, 
which  is  requisite  to  familiarize  the  mind  with  a  startling  or  a  com- 
plex novelty."  The  mere  fact  that  by  amplification  the  idea  gains 
bulk  and  time  is  one  important  reason  for  dwelling  upon  it. 

ILLUSTRATION.  —  The  above-quoted  thought  from  Carlyle,  in  the  second 
step  of  amplification,  is  dwelt  upon  as  follows :  — 

"  In  the  Body,  for  example,  as  all  doctors  are  agreed,  the  first  condition  of 
complete  health  is,  that  each  organ  perform  its  function  unconsciously,  un- 
heeded ;  let  but  any  organ  announce  its  separate  existence,  were  it  even  boast- 
fully, and  for  pleasure,  not  for  pain,  then  already  has  one  of  those  unfortunate 
'  false  centres  of  sensibility '  established  itself,  already  is  derangement  there. 
The  perfection  of  bodily  wellbeing  is,  that  the  collective  bodily  activities  seem 
one  ;  and  be  manifested,  moreover,  not  in  themselves,  but  in  the  action  they 
accomplish.  If  a  Dr.  Kitchener  boast  that  his  system  is  in  high  order,  Die- 
tetic Philosophy  may  indeed  take  credit  ;  but  the  true  Peptician  was  that 
Countryman  who  answered  that,  '  for  his  part,  he  had  no  system." " 

All  this,  whatever  else  it  accomplishes,  gives  the  reader  time  to  realize  the 
significance  of  the  aphorism  proposed  at  the  beginning. 

3.  To  give  an  idea  its  fitting  and  designed  power ;  that  is,  to 
give  it  a  guise  adapting  it  to  act,  according  to  its  nature  and  pur- 
pose, upon  the  sensibilities,  or  the  understanding,  or  the  will. 
Some  thoughts  that,  reasoned  out,  would  have  comparatively  little 
effect,  might  appeal  strongly  to  the  imagination ;  others  might 
have  special  power  in  motive  and  conduct.  It  is  on  the  appropri- 
ate amplification  that  we  must  depend,  to  make  each  thought 
fulfil  its  destined  mission  in  the  reader's  mind. 

ILLUSTRATION. — A  third  step  of  amplification,  in  the  above-cited  thought 
of  Carlyle's,  is  to  give  the  idea  an  imaginative  and  poetic  turn,  so  that  it  is 
fitted  to  impress  the  reader  by  its  beauty. 

"  In  fact,  unity,  agreement  is  always  silent,  or  so  ft- voiced;  it  is  only  discord 
that  loudly  proclaims  itself.  So  long  as  the  several  elements  of  Life,  all  fitly 
adjusted,  can  pour  forth  their  movement  like  harmonious  tuned  strings,  it  is 
a  melody  and  unison;  Life,  from  its  mysterious  fountains,  flows  out  as  in 
celestial  music  and  diapason, — which  also,  like  that  other  music  of  the 
spheres,  even  because  it  is  perennial  and  complete,  without  interruption  and 
without  imperfection,  might  be  fabled  to  escape  the  ear.  Thus  too,  in  some 


290  AMPLIFICA  TION. 

languages,  is  the  state  of  health  well  denoted  by  a  term   expressing  unity; 
when  we  feel  ourselves  as  we  wish  to  be,  we  say  that  we  are  whole." 

II.     MEANS  OF  AMPLIFICATION. 

It  would  of  course  be  useless  in  any  case  to  say  that  thought  of 
such  and  such  kind  should  be  amplified  in  such  and  such  a  way. 
The  self-reliant  literary  instinct  would  not  only  scorn  to  be  bound 
by  such  rules,  but  would  evince  independent  genius  in  expanding 
thought  by  unwonted  methods.  It  is  within  our  province,  how- 
ever, to  examine  to  some  extent  the  natural  suggestiveness  of  ideas, 
and  to  gather  therefrom  the  leading  means  of  amplification. 

The  thoughts  which  in  the  plan  exist  in  outline  may  be  ampli- 
fied:— 

1.  By  breaking  up  General  Statements  into  Particulars.  — 
It  is  from  particular  facts  that  a  comprehensive  truth  is  generalized 
in  the  first  place.  The  writer  has  the  advantage  of  seeing  both  the 
truth  and  the  facts;  to  put  his  reader,  therefore,  into  the  same 
state  of  understanding  that  he  occupies  he  must  separate  the  gene- 
ral idea  into  its  components,  if  we  may  so  express  it,  before  the 
reader's  eyes. 

i.  A  general  fact  is  most  naturally  amplified  by  enumeration 
of  particulars  enough  to  make  a  conclusive  ground  for  the  asser- 
tion of  it.  An  important  consideration,  then,  is  the  number  of 
particulars. 

NOTE. — Take  for  instance  such  a  general  fact  as  this:  'The  past  hundred 
years  have  been  prolific  in  important  inventions.'  Here  the  natural  impulse 
is  simply  to  particularize,  giving  names  of  enough  inventions  to  substantiate 
the  statement.  The  method  therefore  is  enumeration,  with  the  aim  of  accumu- 
lating a  number  of  details. 

An  example  of  such  enumerative  amplification  is  given  on  page  207  above, 
in  the  paragraph  quoted  from  Harris.  Another  example  occurs  in  Morley's 
"Edmund  Burke";  where,  in  speaking  of  the  characteristics  of  Burke's  age, 
he  makes  the  statement :  "  In  every  order  of  activity  a  fresh  and  gigantic 
impulse  [to  progress]  was  given."  This  he  amplifies  by  enumerating,  —  "In 
the  Spiritual  order;  in  the  Industrial  order;  in  the  Speculative  and  Scientific 
order;  in  the  Political  order  ";  and  devoting  a  paragraph  to  each. 


AMPLIFICA  TION.  291 

2.  A  general  principle  is  most  naturally  amplified  by  example, 
in  which  the  object  is  not  so  much  to  substantiate  by  the  number 
of  details  as  to  illustrate  by  the  character  of  them.     Much  depends 
therefore  on  having  the  example  well  chosen. 

EXAMPLE.  —  In  the  following,  from  Bacon,  a  single  example  is  sufficient  to 
illustrate  adequately  the  principle  enunciated  at  the  beginning. 

"  The  inclination  to  goodness  is  imprinted  deeply  in  the  nature  of  man, 
insomuch  that  if  it  issue  not  towards  men,  it  will  take  unto  other  living  creat- 
ures; as  it  is  seen  in  the  Turks,  a  cruel  people,  who  nevertheless  are  kind  to 
beasts,  and  give  alms  to  dogs  and  birds  ;  insomuch,  as  Busbechius  reporteth, 
a  Christian  boy  in  Constantinople  had  like  to  have  been  stoned  for  gagging  in 
a  waggishness  a  long-billed  fowl." 

3.  In  this  means  of  amplification  it  is  to  be  noted  that  not  only 
does  the  particular  and  concrete  illustrate  the  general  and  abstract, 
but  the  general  and  abstract  illustrate  equally,  when  the  particular 
fact  is  the  basis  of  the  thought.     "  Thus, "  says  Pascal,1  "  when  we 
wish  to  illustrate  a  general  principle,  we  must  exhibit  the  particular 
rule  of  a  case ;  but  if  we  wish  to  illustrate  a  particular  case,  we 
must  begin  with  the  general  rule." 

EXAMPLE  OF  THE  GENERAL  USED  TO  ILLUSTRATE  THE  PARTICULAR.  —  In 
Macaulay's  essay  on  Hallam's  Constitutional  History,  one  section  is  devoted 
to  tracing  in  detail  the  change  in  the  character  of  the  English  Parliament  since 
the  Revolution ;  and  he  illustrates  by  a  paragraph  beginning  thus :  — 

"  Perhaps  it  may  be  laid  down  as  a  general  rule  that  a  legislative  assembly, 
not  constituted  on  democratical  principles,  cannot  be  popular  long  after  it 
ceases  to  be  weak." 

This  principle,  after  a  little  expansion  and  definition,  is  applied  to  the  illus- 
tration of  the  series  of  facts  that  he  has  been  adducing. 

2.  By  employing  Some  Form  of  Repetition. — This  kind  of 
amplification  is  used  in  cases  where  the  significance  of  a  term 
is  to  be  fixed,  or  where  an  important  assertion  is  to  be  im- 
pressed. "  A  man  who  should  content  himself,"  says  De  Quincey,2 
"with  a  single  condensed  enunciation  of  a  perplexed  doctrine, 

1  Pascal,  "  Thoughts,"  Chap.  IX.  section  III. 

2  De  Quincey,  Essay  on  "  Style,"  Part  I. 


292  AMPLIFICA  TION. 

would  be  a  madman  and  a  felo-de-se,  as  respected  his  reliance 
upon  that  doctrine." 

Of  course,  by  repetition  here  is  not  meant  mere  reiteration. 
Reiteration  does  not  amplify.  The  meaning  is  rather  what  the  old 
rhetoricians  called  interpretatio  ;  which,  as  defined  by  Archbishop 
Whately,1  is  :  "  to  repeat  the  same  sentiment  and  argument  in 
many  different  forms  of  expression ;  each,  in  itself  brief,  but  all, 
together,  affording  such  an  expansion  of  the  sense  to  be  conveyed, 
and  so  detaining  the  mind  upon  it,  as  the  case  may  require." 

Such  repetition  takes  various  aspects. 

1.  Its  simplest  aspect  is  where  definitive  and  descriptive  terms 
and  phrases  are  appended  to  the  central  idea,  until  the  store  of 
expressions  thus  accumulated  elucidates  the  idea  from  many  sides. 

EXAMPLE.  —  A  very  marked  instance  of  this  form  of  repetition  occurs  in 
Burke's  description  of  National  Chivalry,  in  his  Reflections  on  the  Revolu- 
tion in  France,  in  which  passage  he  employs  no  fewer  than  nine  equivalent 
expressions  for  the  term  Chivalry :  — 

"  But  the  age  of  chivalry  is  gone.  That  of  sophisters,  economists,  and  cal- 
culators, has  succeeded;  and  the  glory  of  Europe  is  extinguished  for  ever. 
Never,  never  more,  shall  we  behold  that  generous  loyalty  to  rank  and  sex,  that 
proud  submission,  that  dignified  obedience,  that  subordination  of  the  heart, 
which  kept  alive,  even  in  servitude  itself,  the  spirit  of  an  exalted  freedom. 
The  unbought  grace  of  life,  the  cheap  defense  of  nations,  the  nurse  of  manly 
sentiment  and  heroic  enterprise,  is  gone !  It  is  gone,  that  sensibility  of  prin- 
ciple, that  chastity  of  honor,  which  felt  a  stain  like  a  wound,  which  inspired 
courage  whilst  it  mitigated  ferocity,  which  ennobled  whatever  it  touched,  and 
under  which  vice  itself  lost  half  its  evil,  by  losing  all  its  grossness." 

2.  A  second  aspect  is,  while  repeating  virtually  the  same  asser- 
tion or  argument,  to  disguise  the  repetition  by  giving  the  thought 
in  obverse,  or  breaking  it  into  parts,  or  presenting  it  in  different 
degrees  of  concreteness ;  with  care  to  make  the  idea  grow  in  the 
repetition,  until  it  is  sufficiently  impressed. 

EXAMPLES.  —  i.  An  example  of  such  repetition  occurs  in  Burke's  Letters 
on  a  Regicide  Peace,  where  he  speaks  of  war  and  the  motives  to  it :  — 

"  But  never  can  a  vehement  and  sustained  spirit  of  fortitude  be  kindled  in 

1  Whately,  "  Elements  of  Rhetoric,"  p.  302, 


AMPLIFICA  TION.  293 

a  people  by  a  war  of  calculation.  It  has  nothing  that  can  keep  the  mind  erect 
under  the  gusts  of  adversity.  Even  where  men  are  willing,  as  sometimes  they 
are,  to  barter  their  blood  for  lucre,  to  hazard  their  safety  for  the  gratification 
of  their  avarice,  the  passion  which  animates  them  to  that  sort  of  conflict,  like 
all  the  short-sighted  passions,  must  see  its  objects  distinct  and  near  at  hand. 
The  passions  of  the  lower  order  are  hungry  and  impatient.  Speculative  plun- 
der ;  contingent  spoil  ;  future,  long  adjourned,  uncertain  booty  ;  pillage  which 
must  enrich  a  late  posterity,  and  which  possibly  may  not  reach  to  posterity  at 
all ;  these,  for  any  length  of  time,  will  never  support  a  mercenary  war.  The 
people  are  in  the  right.  The  calculation  of  profit  in  all  such  wars  is  false.  On 
balancing  the  account  of  such  wars,  ten  thousand  hogsheads  of  sugar  are  pur- 
chased at  ten  thousand  times  their  price.  The  blood  of  man  should  never  be 
shed  but  to  redeem  the  blood  of  man.  It  is  well  shed  for  our  family,  for  our 
friends,  for  our  God,  for  our  country,  for  our  kind.  The  rest  is  vanity;  the 
rest  is  crime." 

2.  Repetition  of  this  kind  needs  to  be  carefully  managed,  or  it  will  merely 
mark  time  without  advancing.     Compare,  for  instance,  the  following,  from 
Blair's  Sermons :  — 

"No  individual  can  be  happy  unless  the  circumstances  of  those  around  him 
be  so  adjusted  as  to  conspire  with  his  interest.  For,  in  human  society,  no  hap- 
piness or  misery  stands  unconnected  and  independent.  Our  fortunes  are  inter- 
woven by  threads  innumerable.  We  touch  one  another  on  all  sides.  One  man's 
misfortune  or  success,  his  wisdom  or  his  folly,  often  by  its  consequences  reaches 
through  multitudes."  On  this  passage  Mr.  E.  J.  Payne '  thus  comments :  "  Here 
the  same  proposition  is  repeated  five  times,  without  any  material  addition  or 
illustration,  the  impression  left  being  that  of  great  poverty  of  thought." 

3.  A  favorite  means  of  amplification  with  Macaulay  was  the  obverse,2  that 
is,  the  negative  of  his  proposition  in  some  aspect;   and  this  obverse,  through 
his  tendency  to  antithesis,  he  very  generally  put  first.     The  manner  of  doing 
this  has  already  been  pointed  out,  page  138  above.     The  following,  from  his 
essay  on  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson,  shows  an  aspect  of  this :  he  is  setting 
out  to  speak  of  unpardonable  mannerism,  but  speaks  of  pardonable  mannerism 
first :  — 

"Mannerism  is  pardonable,  and  is  sometimes  even  agreeable,  when  the 
manner,  though  vicious,  is  natural.  Few  readers,  for  example,  would  be  will- 
ing to  part  with  the  mannerism  of  Milton  or  of  Burke.  But  a  mannerism 
which  does  not  sit  easy  on  the  mannerist,  which  has  been  adopted  on  princi- 
ple, and  which  can  be  sustained  only  by  constant  effort,  is  always  offensive. 

1  Introduction  to  "  Burke's  Select  Works,"  Vol.  I.  p.  xli.    On  all  this  section  his 
introduction  to  Burke  has  been  very  suggestive. 

2  See  Minto,  "  Manual  of  English  Prose  Literature,"  pp.  88,  99. 


294  AMPLIFICA  TION. 

And  such  is  the  mannerism  of  Johnson."  Some  interesting  remarks  are  made 
on  this  passage,  Minto,  p.  99. 

3.  A  very  serviceable  management  of  this  kind  of  repetition 
consists  in  expanding  the  sense  until  the  thought  is  exhibited  on  its 
various  sides,  and  then  contracting  it  into  its  most  compendious 
and  striking  form.  Of  this  method  Dr.  Whately1  says,  "The 
hearers  will  be  struck  by  the  forcibleness  of  the  sentence  which 
they  will  have  been  prepared  to  comprehend ;  they  will  under- 
stand the  longer  expression,  and  remember  the  shorter." 

EXAMPLES.  —  A  paragraph  illustrating  this  form  of  repetition  has  been 
quoted  from  Burke  on  page  209  preceding.  The  following  is  another  instance 
from  the  same  author :  — 

"  It  signifies  very  little  how  this  matter  may  be  quibbled  away.  Example, 
the  only  argument  of  effect  in  civil  life,  demonstrates  the  truth  of  my  proposi- 
tion. Nothing  can  alter  my  opinion  concerning  the  pernicious  tendency  of 
this  example,  until  I  see  some  man  for  his  indiscretion  in  the  support  of  power, 
for  his  violent  and  intemperate  servility,  rendered  incapable  of  sitting  in  par- 
liament. For  as  it  now  stands,  the  fault  of  overstraining  popular  qualities, 
and,  irregularly  if  you  please,  asserting  popular  privileges,  has  led  to  disquali- 
fication; the  opposite  fault  never  has  produced  the  slightest  punishment.  Re- 
sistance to  power  has  shut  the  door  of  the  House  of  Commons  to  one  man  ; 
obsequiousness  and  servility,  to  none" 

Mr.  Payne  thus  analyzes  this  paragraph :  "  This  paragraph  should  be  noticed 
as  a  conspicuous  example  of  Burke's  method.  He  begins  by  an  axiom  paren- 
thetically introduced.  He  goes  on  to  put  the  case  in  the  strongest  light,  by 
altering  its  conditions  to  their  polar  opposites.  The  conclusion  is  then  stated 
clearly  at  length;  and  as  a  final  blow,  this  conclusion  is  repeated  with  a  double 
antithesis,  in  the  most  concise  and  striking  form  attainable." 

For  discussion  of  Repetition  in  its  relations  to  Diction  and  Style,  see  pre- 
ceding, pages  30,  1 60. 

3.  By  adding  Illustrative  and  Vivifying  Details.  —  Not  all 

illustration  is  in  the  nature  of  example ;  nor  is  it  always  employed 
merely  to  make  the  reader  understand  more  fully.  Some  material 
produces  its  proper  effect  only  by  being  realized  in  the  imagination  ; 
and  the  amplification  applied  to  it  must  be  of  a  heightening  and 
vivifying  character. 

l  Whately,  "  Elements  of  Rhetoric,"  p.  351. 


AMPLIFICA  TION.  295 

Some  of  the  aspects  that  such  amplification  takes  may  here  be 
noted. 

1.  Much  of  the  detail  in  narrative  and  descriptive  writing  is 
invented  or  observed  for  the  purpose  of  giving  not  only  more  body 
to  the  account,  but  more  life  and  reality. 

EXAMPLE. — The  following  paragraph,  from  Parkman,  narrates  the  discov- 
ery of  the  Wisconsin  river  by  Joliet  and  Marquette :  — 

"  After  carrying  their  canoes  a  mile  and  a  half  over  the  prairie  and  through 
the  marsh,  they  launched  them  on  the  Wisconsin,  bade  farewell  to  the  waters 
that  flowed  to  the  St.  Lawrence,  and  committed  themselves  to  the  current  that 
was  to  bear  them  they  knew  not  whither,  —  perhaps  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico, 
perhaps  to  the  South  Sea  or  the  Gulf  of  California.  They  glided  calmly  down 
the  tranquil  stream,  by  islands  choked  with  trees  and  matted  with  entangling 
grape  vines;  by  forests,  groves,  and  prairies,  —  the  parks  and  pleasure-grounds 
of  a  prodigal  nature;  by  thickets  and  marshes  and  broad  bare  sand-bars; 
under  the  shadowing  trees,  between  whose  tops  looked  down  from  afar  the 
bold  brow  of  some  woody  bluff.  At  night,  the  bivouac,  —  the  canoes  inverted 
on  the  bank,  the  flickering  fire,  the  meal  of  bison-flesh  or  venison,  the  evening 
pipes,  and  slumber  beneath  the  stars  :  and  when  in  the  morning  they  embarked 
again,  the  mist  hung  on  the  river  like  a  bridal  veil;  then  melted  before  the 
sun,  till  the  glassy  water  and  the  languid  woods  basked  breathless  in  the  sultry 
glare." 

Here  the  attempt  is  evidently  made  by  amplification  to  render  the  impor- 
tance of  the  event  more  palpable.  Nor  is  the  scene  merely  imaginary,  but 
recorded  from  actual  observation,  —  as  a  foot-note  says,  "  The  above  traits  of 
the  scenery  of  the  Wisconsin  are  taken  from  personal  observation  of  the  river 
during  midsummer." 

2.  Figures   of  speech,  principally  the  figures  of  simile,  meta- 
phor, and  analogy,  are  much  depended  on  in  cases  where  a  complex 
thought  needs  to  be  made  clear,  or  an  important  consideration 
needs  to  be  enforced.     Often  they  are  the  briefest  as  well  as  the 
most  luminous  means  of  expanding  an  idea. 

EXAMPLES.  —  i .  Consider  how  much  the  figures  in  the  following,  from  Glad- 
stone's essay  on  "  Kin  beyond  Sea,"  effect  in  making  the  thought  lucid.  He 
is  speaking  of  the  relations  between  Sovereign  and  Ministry,  and  the  relations 
of  both  to  the  people :  — 

"  For  this  concentration  of  power,  toil  and  liability,  milder  realities  have 
now  been  substituted;  and  Ministerial  responsibility  comes  between  the  Mon- 


296  AMPLIFICATION. 

arch  and  every  public  trial  and  necessity,  like  armor  between  the  flesh  and  the 
spear  that  would  seek  to  pierce  it;  only  this  is  an  armor  itself  also  fleshy,  at 
once  living  and  impregnable.  It  may  be  said  by  an  adverse  critic,  that  the 
Constitutional  Monarch  is  only  a  depository  of  power,  as  an  armory  is  a  depos- 
itory of  arms;  but  that  those  who  wield  the  arms,  and  those  alone,  constitute 
the  true  governing  authority.  And  no  doubt  this  is  so  far  true,"  etc. 

2.  The  following,  from  Cardinal  Newman,  is  a  very  vigorous  and  telling  en- 
forcement of  its  thought :  — 

"  Quarry  the  granite  rock  with  razors,  or  moor  the  vessel  with  a  thread  of 
silk;  then  may  you  hope  with  such  keen  and  delicate  instruments  as  human 
knowledge  and  human  reason  to  contend  against  those  giants,  the  passion  and 
the  pride  of  man." 

3.  Incidents  and  anecdotes  are  a  frequent  means  of  illustrative 
amplification,  especially  in  popular  discourse.     They  may  be  re- 
garded as  a  free  form  of  exemplification. 

In  using  them  the  writer  should  be  sure  he  has  a  definite  point 
to  make,  and  that  his  illustration  has  an  equally  definite  point  to 
be  brought  in  contact  with  it.  To  make  a  discourse  of  stories  that 
illustrate  nothing  is  to  make  it  all  confectionery  and  no  food.  And 
indeed,  to  admit  any  part  of  a  story  that  does  not  definitely  aid  in 
the  illustration  is  to  tolerate  so  much  superfluous  lumber.  Illus- 
trative stories  are  told  not  for  themselves  but  for  their  point ; 
unnecessary  details  should  therefore  be  rigorously  pruned  away,  in 
order  to  leave  the  point  conspicuous. 

EXAMPLE.  —  Consider  how  the  incidents  introduced  into  the  following,  from 
Lowell,  give  a  peculiar  interest  to  the  thought  enunciated  at  the  beginning :  — 

"  As  I  see  more  of  material  antiquity,  I  begin  to  suspect  that  my  interest  in 
it  is  mostly  factitious.  The  relations  of  races  to  the  physical  world  (only  to 
be  studied  fruitfully  on  the  spot)  do  not  excite  in  me  an  interest  at  all  propor- 
tionate to  that  I  feel  in  their  influence  on  the  moral  advance  of  mankind,  which 
one  may  as  easily  trace  in  his  library  as  on  the  spot.  ...  As  for  antiquity, 
after  reading  history,  one  is  haunted  by  a  discomforting  suspicion  that  the 
names  so  painfully  deciphered  in  hieroglyphic  or  arrow-head  inscriptions  are 
only  so  many  more  Smiths  and  Browns  masking  it  in  unknown  tongues. 
Moreover,  if  we  Yankees  are  twitted  with  not  knowing  the  difference  between 
big  and  great,  may  not  those  of  us  who  have  learned  it  turn  round  on  many  a 
monument  over  here  with  the  same  reproach?  I  confess  I  am  beginning  to 
sympathize  with  a  countryman  of  ours  from  Michigan,  who  asked  our  Minister 


AMPLIFICATION.  297 

to  direct  him  to  a  specimen  ruin  and  a  specimen  gallery,  that  he  might  see  and 
be  rid  of  them  once  for  all.  I  saw  three  young  Englishmen  going  through  the 
Vatican  by  catalogue  and  number,  the  other  day,  in  a  fashion  which  John  Bull 
is  apt  to  consider  exclusively  American.  '  Number  300 ! '  says  the  one  with 
catalogue  and  pencil,  — '  have  you  seen  it?'  'Yes,'  answer  his  two  comrades, 
and,  checking  it  off,  he  goes  on  with  Number  301.  Having  witnessed  the  una- 
vailing agonies  of  many  Anglo-Saxons  from  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic  in  their 
effort  to  have  the  correct  sensation  before  many  hideous  examples  of  antique 
bad  taste,  my  heart  warmed  toward  my  business-like  British  cousins,  who  were 
doing  their  aesthetics  in  this  thrifty  auctioneer  fashion." 

The  foregoing  are  the  principal  means  of  amplification,  so  far 
as  they  may  be  enumerated  generally ;  other  means  are  to  be  re- 
ferred more  especially  to  the  specific  literary  forms. 

III.    ACCESSORIES  OF  AMPLIFICATION. 

Besides  the  direct  means  of  amplification,  there  are  to  be  men- 
tioned certain  accessories  that,  rightly  employed,  do  much  to 
impart  life  and  interest  to  the  thought. 

Quotation.  —  "  He  that  borrows  the  aid  of  an  equal  under- 
standing," says  Burke,  "  doubles  his  own ;  he  that  uses  that  of  his 
superior  elevates  his  own  to  the  stature  of  that  he  "contemplates." 
The  corroborative  quotations  introduced  into  a  literary  work  may 
often  be  made  very  valuable  features  of  it. 

Some  rules  and  cautions  regarding  the  use  of  quotation  need, 
however,  to  be  observed. 

i.  In  employing  quotation  to  corroborate  any  statement,  the 
writer  should  be  sure  that  it  expresses  an  idea  in  the  exact  line  of 
his  thinking.  If  it  is  a  little  aside,  or  looks  toward  a  different  con- 
clusion, it  but  confuses  the  work ;  and  all  the  more  if  only  a  little 
out  of  the  way.  Such  inexactness  is  the  most  frequent  error  in 
quoting. 

EXAMPLE.  —  The  following  quotations,  which  occur  in  the  midst  of  a  pas- 
sage inculcating  painstaking  in  composition,  turn  the  thought,  as  will  be 
observed,  a  little  aside :  — 

"  Our  best  poets  have  been  equally  painstaking.    Ben  Jonson  declared,  con- 


298  AMPLIFICA  TION. 

trary  to  the  popular  opinion,  '  that  a  good  poet's  made,  as  well  as  born.'     So, 
also,  Wordsworth :  — 

'  O  many  are  the  poets  that  are  sown 
By  nature,  men  endowed  with  highest  gifts, 
The  vision  and  the  faculty  divine  : 
Yet  wanting  the  accomplishment  of  verse, 
Which,  in  the  docile  season  of  their  youth, 
It  was  denied  them  to  acquire  through  lack 
Of  culture,  and  the  inspiring  aid  of  books.' " 

From  this  point  onward  the  subject  of  painstaking  is  resumed,  without 
warning  or  transition,  as  if  the  thought  had  been  unbroken. 

2.  It  is  important,  in  introducing  a  quoted  expression,  to  give 
the  quotation  in  its  exact  words,  without  having  to  accommodate 
it  to  another  grammatical  structure,  or  to  take  any  liberties  with 
the  expression.  Not  always,  perhaps,  can  this  be  easily  done  ;  but 
in  most  cases  the  writer  can  adjust  his  own  construction  to  that 
of  the  borrowed  passage.  Poetry  should  be  quoted  in  lines,  if 
more  than  one  line  is  quoted ;  if  only  one  line,  or  part  of  a  line, 
the  writer  should  judge  whether,  from  its  close  or  looser  connex- 
ion with  his  thought,  it  will  better  appear  in  the  body  of  the  text 
or  in  a  line  by  itself. 

ILLUSTRATION.  —  The  awkwardness  of  the  following  is  evident :  "  Yet  he 
did  know  that '  Christ  and  Him  crucified '  was  now  his  all  in  all;  and  this 
knowledge  thrilled  every  fibre  of  his  body."  The  sentence  ought  to  be  recast 
so  that  faithfulness  and  grammatical  structure  should  coincide ;  e.g.  "  Yet  he 
did  know  that  his  all  in  all  was  summed  up  in  'Christ  and  Him  crucified  ';  and 
this  knowledge,"  etc. 

The  following  will  illustrate  Cardinal  Newman's  scrupulousness,  in  quoting, 
to  mark  all  that  he  quotes  and  only  that :  — 

"The  disputants  are  men  of  education  and  ability:  the  clergyman  orthodox, 
serious,  amiable;  his  opponent  a  man  of  candor  and  good  sense;  and  'the 
whole '  correspondence  professes  to  be  sent  to  the  press  '  faithfully,  without  com- 
ment, without  altering  a  word  or  syllable '  on  one  side  or  on  the  other." 

Allusion.  —  By  this  is  meant  indirect  suggestion  of  or  reference 
to  something  that  the  reader  may  be  trusted  to  understand,  some  in- 


AMPLIFICA  TION.  299 

cident,  expression,  or  custom  in  history  or  literature  or  life.  If 
the  reader  profits  by  the  allusion,  the  idea  thus  becomes  a  double 
one ;  and  the  indirectness  of  the  association  is  a  graceful  compli- 
ment to  the  reader's  culture.  Fertility  of  allusion  is  one  of  the 
most  charming  embellishments  of  literature. 

EXAMPLES. — The  following,  from  John  Morley,  is  an  allusion  to  the  inci- 
dent recorded  in  I  Kings  xviii.  44 :  — 

"  A  statesman  may  well  be  pardoned  for  not  discerning  the  germs  of  new 
things  about  his  feet :  he  too  often  fails  to  see  them  even  when  they  have 
grown  breast  high.  It  is  but  little  reproach  to  him  not  to  have  descried  the 
small  cloud  on  the  remote  horizon  no  bigger  than  a  marts  hand,  when  he  so 
often  moves  in  serene  unconsciousness  of  the  tempest  ready  to  burst  over  his 
head." 

The  following,  from  Bulwer,  is  an  allusion  to  the  old  myth  of  Cadmus  and 
the  dragon's  teeth :  — 

"  So  he  dismissed  them,  if  with  churlish  words, 
With  royal  presents,  and  to  festal  pomps. 
But  one,  by  Median  law 
Nearest  his  throne,  the  chief  priest  of  the  Magi, 

"  Having  heard  all  with  not  unprescient  fears, 
Followed  the  Prince  and  urged  recall  of  words 
Which,  sent  from  king  to  king, 
Are  fraught  with  dragon  seeds,  -whose  growth  is  armies," 

Of  course  the  prosperity  of  an  allusion  depends  entirely  on  the 
reader's  ability  to  resolve  it.  Macaulay,  whose  writings  are  espe- 
cially rich  in  allusion,  had  the  useful  custom  of  incidentally  explain- 
ing each  allusion  far  enough  so  that  the  reader  could  profit  by  it 
whether  he  was  familiar  with  the  original  alluded  to  or  not.  An 
instructive  indication  this,  of  Macaulay's  prevailing  passion  for 
clearness. 

EXAMPLE. — The  following  not  only  alludes,  but  tells  enough  of  the  story 
to  make  the  allusion  plain :  — 

"  The  spell  loses  its  power;  and  he  who  should  then  hope  to  conjure  witk 
it  would  find  himself  as  much  mistaken  as  Cassim  in  the  Arabian  tale,  when 
he  stood  crying,  '  Open  Wheat,'  '  Open  Barley,'  to  the  door  which  obeyed  no 
sound  but  '  Open  Sesame.' " 


300  AMPLIFICATION. 

Suggestion.  —  Many  a  thought  is  much  moire  effectually  treated 
when  it  is  merely  hinted ;  when  the  reader  is,  as  it  were,  put  on 
the  track  of  it  and  stimulated  to  carry  it  on  for  himself.  "  You 
must  be  careful,"  says  Henry  Ward  Beecher,1  "not  to  surfeit 
people ;  leave  room  for  their  imagination  and  spirit  to  work. 
Don't  treat  them  as  sacks  to  be  filled  from  a  funnel.  Aim  to 
make  them  spiritually  active,  —  self-helpful." 

The  relation  of  suggestiveness  in  style  to  economy  of  the  read- 
er's interpreting  power  has  already  been  mentioned,  page  27. 

EXAMPLE.  —  Consider  how  the  end  of  the  following,  from  Walter  Savage 
Landor,  is  fitted  by  its  suggestiveness  to  leave  the  reader  in  the  attitude  of 
imagining  for  himself.  It  occurs  in  his  "  Dream  of  Petrarca  "  :  — 

"'And  Love! '  said  I,  'whither  is  he  departed?  If  not  too  late,  I  would 
propitiate  and  appease  him.' 

" '  He  who  cannot  follow  me,  he  who  cannot  overtake  and  pass  me,'  said  the 
Genius, '  is  unworthy  of  the  name,  the  most  glorious  in  earth  or  heaven.  Look 
up !  Love  is  yonder,  and  ready  to  receive  thee.' 

"  I  looked :  the  earth  was  under  me :  I  saw  only  the  clear  blue  sky,  and  some- 
thing brighter  above  it." 

1  Beecher,  "  Yale  Lectures  on  Preaching,"  First  Series,  p.  224. 


REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT.  301 


CHAPTER   III. 

REPRODUCTION  OF  THE  THOUGHT  OF  OTHERS. 

BEFORE  entering  upon  the  study  of  the  specific  literary  forms, 
we  need  to  devote  a  chapter  to  the  discussion  of  a  kind  of  work 
which,  though  not  strictly  inventive,  calls  for  the  ability  to  trace 
accurately  and  intelligently  the  various  processes  included  in  in- 
vention. Reproduction  of  the  thought  of  others,  by  some  work- 
ing-over process,  such  as  abstract,  paraphrase,  or  translation,  is 
often  inculcated  as  a  valuable  means  of  discipline  to  the  writer. 
It  is  this,  and  more.  It  is  a  distinct  form  of  literary  work,  for 
which  every  author  has  frequent  occasion ;  and  the  need  of  thor- 
ough and  conscientious  training  in  the  principles  of  it,  is  evident 
from  the  fact  that  there  is  no  more  prolific  source  of  recrimination 
between  authors  than  blundering  or  unfair  interpretations  of  each 
other's  statements.  Ability  to  reproduce  thought  accurately  is 
needed  also  as  the  indispensable  requisite  for  criticism.  Not  often 
is  a  critic  actually  dishonest  in  his  representations  of  an  author's 
work ;  but  it  is  just  as  bad  as  being  dishonest  if  he  makes  up  his 
judgment  from  a  hasty  impression,  or  if  he  lacks  the  acumen  to 
give  a  true  and  searching  account  of  the  production  he  is  review- 
ing. Every  critic  owes  it  therefore  both  to  his  author  and  his  own 
reputation  to  qualify  himself  by  a  determinate  discipline  looking 
to  this  particular  end,  before  he  presumes  upon  the  responsible 
office  of  passing  judgment  on  the  creations  of  other  men's  minds. 

Considered  in  its  relation  to  invention,  reproduction  of  the 
thought  of  others  may  be  regarded  as  an  exercise  in  which  the 
material  is  supplied ;  in  which,  therefore,  the  writer's  skill  is  con- 
centrated on  the  form.  What  form  it  shall  take,  whether  con- 
densed or  expanded,  whether  a  full  reproduction  or  merely  select- 


302  REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT. 

ive,  is  determined  by  its  object  and  occasion.  Four  main  aspects 
of  such  reproduction  are  discussed  in  the  present  chapter :  inter- 
pretation, abstract,  paraphrase,  and  translation. 

I.     INTERPRETATION. 

Scope  of  Interpretation. — This  form  of  reproduction  is  dis- 
cussed first,  because  it  is  the  necessary  basis  of  all  others :  any 
process  by  which  thought  already  existent  is  worked  over  and  pre- 
sented in  another  guise  is  fundamentally  interpretation  of  that 
thought.  The  preliminary  procedure  in  all  cases  is  to  get  clearly 
in  mind  the  exact  idea  of  the  original.  This  once  accom- 
plished, the  distinctive  form  of  the  reproduction  is  a  comparatively 
easy  matter  to  settle,  depending  on  the  particular  purpose  that  the 
writer  has  in  view. 

The  scope  that  is  open  to  the  work  of  interpretation  is  far  more 
comprehensive  than  any  mechanical  rules  can  cover.  For  the 
truest  interpretation  is  not  mechanical ;  it  is  creative,  following 
with  insight  and  sympathy  the  same  constructive  lines  that  were 
laid  down  in  the  author's  mind  and  heart,  and  vivifying  the  work 
anew. 

Interpretation  begins  indeed  with  the  humblest  procedures,  — 
with  verbal  criticism  and  patient  analysis  of  the  grammatical  fea- 
tures of  expression ;  nor  can  the  interpreter  afford  on  occasion  to 
neglect  any  minutest  detail  of  these.  It  is  the  possible  potency  of 
a  word  or  a  letter  to  determine  the  whole  bearing  of  a  passage 
which  imparts  all  honorableness  to  the  exact  scholarship  of  the 
verbal  critic.  At  the  same  time,  that  interpretation  which  stops 
with  such  minute  work  is  as  inadequate  as  that  which  ignores  it. 
Stopping  with  it,  interpretation  becomes  mere  dryasdust  com- 
ment, missing  all  that  gives  life  and  spirit  to  the  original ;  ignoring 
it,  it  becomes  wild,  fantastic,  hopelessly  alloyed  with  the  critic's 
own  vagaries.  There  is  both  a  minute  interpretation  and  a  liberal ; 
an  interpretation  that  centres  in  the  smallest  things,  and  an  inter- 
pretation that  reaches  indefinitely  up  along  the  loftier  lines  of 
thought  and  fancy  involved  in  the  original.  Between  these  two 


REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT,  303 

kinds  the  critic  will  choose  according  to  his  insight.  What  in- 
spires but  dull  "  gerund-grinding  "  to  one  will  to  another  be  full 
of  "  the  light  that  never  was,  on  sea  or  land."  Every  individual 
must  find  his  own  most  congenial  manner  of  interpreting;  and 
often  he  must  reach  results  through  processes  too  subtle  to  be 
described.  Whatever  the  processes,  however,  it  is  to  be  remem- 
bered that  the  more  sternly  and  conscientiously  the  exact  verbal 
investigation  is  held  to  as  a  basis,  the  surer  is  the  critic  of  being 
honest  with  his  original. 

Purposes  of  Interpretation.  —  As  regards  the  purpose  for  which 
it  is  made,  two  aspects  of  interpretation  are  to  be  distinguished. 

i.  Interpretation  for  its  own  sake,  which  is  the  staple  of  that 
considerable  body  of  writing  found  in  commentaries,  critical  edi- 
tions, explications,  and  the  like.  In  such  work  the  original  deter- 
mines the  whole  thought,  and  the  object  of  the  interpretation  is 
simply  to  give,  on  some  determinate  scale  or  principle,  a  fair  and 
full  account  of  what  is  involved  in  the  original.  It  is  the  highest 
merit  of  such  interpretation  that  the  interpreter  efface  himself,  and 
let  the  thought  of  the  original  be  perfectly  transmitted,  through 
the  new  medium,  to  the  reader. 

NOTE.  —  A  conscientious  interpreter,  being  concerned  merely  that  the  truth 
become  clear,  will  not  infrequently  give  more  than  one  view,  and  leave  the 
decision  to  the  judgment  of  his  reader.  The  following  note,  for  example, 
is  Prof.  Henry  N.  Hudson's  comment  on  the  expression,  Hamlet,  Act  I., 
scene  2,  "  A  little  more  than  kin,  and  less  than  kind " :  — 

"The  King  is  'a  little  more  than  kin'  to  Hamlet,  because,  in  being  at 
once  his  uncle  and  his  father,  he  is  twice  kin.  And  he  is  '  less  than  kind,' 
because  his  incestuous  marriage,  as  Hamlet  views  it,  is  unnatural  or  out  of 
nature.  The  poet  repeatedly  uses  kind  in  its  primitive  sense  of  nature. 
Professor  Himes,  however,  of  Gettysburg,  Penn.,  questions  this  explanation, 
and  writes  me  as  follows :  '  It  seems  to  me  that,  since  Hamlet  has  just  been 
addressed  as  cousin  and  as  son,  he  is  still  the  object  of  thought,  and  the  words 
quoted  must  be  referred  by  the  Prince  to  himself,  and  not  to  the  King.  In 
other  words,  it  is  Hamlet  who  is  "a  little  more  than  kin,  and  less  than  kind." 
If  we  take  kin  as  a  substitute  for  cousin,  and  kind  as  a  substitute  for  son, 
Hamlet  is  a  little  more  than  the  first,  for  he  is  nephew,  and  a  little  less  than 
the  second,  for  he  is  only  a  step-son,  Hamlet's  aside  is  thus  a  retort  upon  the 


304  REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT. 

King's  words;   as  though  he  said,  "I  am  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  —  a 
little  more  than  the  one,  and  not  so  much  as  the  other." ' 

2.  Interpretation  employed  incidentally,  the  main  thought  of 
the  production  being  other  but  needing  to  use  the  matter  inter- 
preted, either  to  confirm  or  to  confute  it.  Such  use  of  interpreta- 
tion is  extensively  made  in  argumentative  and  expository  literature  ; 
and  the  fair  treatment  of  another's  thought,  whether  in  agreement 
or  in  opposition,  is  one  of  the  strongest  indications  of  a  sound  and 
honorable  mind.  Thought  can  so  easily  be  distorted,  explained 
away,  inflated,  given  a  wrong  coloring,  that  the  interpreter  cannot 
be  too  strenuously  cautioned  to  use  another's  thought  fairly  or  not 
at  all.  It  is  related  of  John  Stuart  Mill  that  he  was  so  scrupulously 
fair  in  controversy  that  he  often  stated  the  opponent's  position 
better  than  did  the  opponent  himself;  and  certainly  he  gained 
more  than  he  lost  by  such  a  course. 

EXAMPLE.  —  A  quaint  example  of  a  passage  interpreted  word  by  word  for  a 
particular  purpose  occurs  in  Latimer's  "  Sermon  on  the  Ploughers  " :  — 

"  Oh  that  our  prelates  woulde  be  as  diligente  to  sowe  the  corne  of  good 
doctrine  as  Sathan  is,  to  sowe  cockel  and  darnel.  And  this  is  the  deuilyshe 
ploughinge,  the  which  worcketh  to  haue  things  in  latine,  and  letteth  the  frute- 
ful  edification.  But  here  some  man  will  saie  to  me,  what  sir  are  ye  so  priuie 
of  the  deuils  counsell  that  ye  know  al  this  to  be  true?  Truli  I  know  him  to 
wel,  and  haue  obeyed  him  a  little  to  much  in  condescentinge  to  some  follies. 
And  I  knowe  him  as  other  men  do,  yea,  that  he  is  euer  occupied  and  euer 
busie  in  folowinge  his  plough.  I  know  bi  saint  Peter  which  saieth  of  him. 
Sicut  leo  rugiens  circuit  querens  quern  deuoret.  He  goeth  aboute  lyke  a 
roaringe  lyon  seekynge  whome  he  maye  deuoure.  I  woulde  haue  thys  texte 
wel  vewed  and  examined  euerye  worde  of  it.  Circuit,  he  goeth  aboute  in 
euerye  corner  of  his  dioces.  He  goeth  on  visitacion  daylye.  He  leaueth  no 
place  of  hys  cure  vnuisited.  He  walketh  round  aboute  from  place  to  place 
and  ceaseth  not.  Sicut  leo,  as  a  Lyon  that  is  strongly,  boldly,  and  proudlye 
straytelye  and  fiercelye  with  haute  lookes,  wyth  hys  proude  countenaunces, 
wyth  hys  stately  braggynges.  Rugiens,  roaringe,  for  he  letteth  not  slippe  any 
occasion  to  speake  or  to  roare  out  when  he  seeth  his  tyme.  Querens,  he  goeth 
about  seekyng  and  not  sleepyng,  as  oure  bishoppes  do,  but  he  seketh  dili- 
gently, he  searcheth  diligently  al  corners,  wheras  he  may  haue  his  pray,  he 
roueth  abrode  in  eueri  place  of  his  dioces,  he  standeth  not  styl,  he  is  neuer  at 
reste,  but  euer  in  hande  wyth  his  plough  that  it  may  go  forwarde," 


REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT.  305 

Requisites  of  Interpretation.  —  From  what  has  been  said  it  is 
evident  that  interpretative  judgment  of  an  author's  work,  to  be 
adequate,  must  be  communion  with  the  author's  mind ;  it  is  trac- 
ing the  current  of  his  invention  from  its  final  result  back  to  its  be- 
ginnings. The  requisites  of  interpretation,  therefore,  are  simply 
the  requisites  of  a  sympathetic  and  congenial,  but  at  the  same 
time  keen  and  critical,  understanding  of  a  creative  intellect ;  with 
power  also  to  enter  into  whatever  the  work  contains  of  passion  or 
imagination. 

Let  us,  however,  examine  a  little  more  in  detail  what  these 
requisites  involve. 

i .  First  of  all,  the  critic  needs  to  develop  by  training  a  severe 
analytical  judgment.  This  he  needs  in  order  to  answer  faithfully 
and  accurately  the  initial  questions :  exactly  what  things  are  in 
the  original,  expressed  and  suggested,  and  how  they  are  com- 
bined. 

Without  the  disposition  to  such  conscientious  work  at  the  be- 
ginning, any  criticism  is  sure  to  be  inconclusive.  Vague  impres- 
sions, without  definite  details  to  back  them,  are  a  too  shadowy 
basis  for  solid  interpretation.  This  is  evident  when  we  consider 
how  much  is  really  included  in  any  masterly  course  of  thought. 
For  besides  what  is  explicitly  stated,  much  is  given  by  implication 
and  suggestion.  Further,  it  makes  a  good  deal  of  difference 
whether  a  statement  is  a  principal  element  in  the  passage,  or  is 
thrown  into  subordinate  relation ;  whether  it  is  made  absolutely 
or  conditioned  by  something  else.  Some  facts  are  expressed  in 
the  barest  and  directest  style ;  others  are  disguised  in  figure  and 
allusion  ;  and  surely  these  so  different  manners  must  indicate  some 
subtle  difference  in  their  significance.  All  such  features  as  these, 
while  they  suggest  how  careful  the  interpreter  should  be  in  order 
to  deal  truly  with  his  original,  suggest  also  how  easy  it  is,  whether 
from  lack  of  skill  or  deliberate  unfairness,  to  give  the  thought  a 
wrong  coloring,  or  in  some  way  to  misinterpret  it.  Every  one 
thinks  he  can  give  a  true  report  of  what  another  has  said  or  writ- 
ten ;  it  is  only  here  and  there  the  trained  and  exact  mind  that 
actually  does  it, 


306  REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT. 

2.  To  the   analytical  judgment   must  be   added,  for  all   the 
higher  achievements  of  criticism,  a  vigorous  imagination.     This  is 
the  realizing  faculty,  the  faculty  by  which  the  interpreter  puts  him- 
self side  by  side  with  the  original  author,  and  shares  by  a  kind  of 
sympathy  in  his  creative  processes.      Looking  thus  through  the 
author's  eyes,  and  communing  with  his  secret  heart,  the  interpre- 
ter reproduces  his  inner  feelings,  motives,  ideals ;  can  divine  what 
is  only  hinted ;  can  run  ahead  of  his  words,  and  enlighten  what 
the  original  has  left  vague  and  obscure. 

By  this  faculty  of  imagination  the  interpreter  becomes  associated 
with  his  author  as  a  fellow-creator.  "  Imagination,"  says  Lowell,1 
"  where  it  is  truly  creative,  is  a  faculty,  and  not  a  quality ;  it  looks 
before  and  after,  it  gives  the  form  that  makes  all  the  parts  work 
together  harmoniously  toward  a  given  end,  its  seat  is  in  the 
higher  reason,  and  it  is  efficient  only  as  a  servant  of  the  will." 
True  as  this  is  of  the  originative  imagination,  it  equally  demon- 
strates its  truth  when  imagination  is  applied  to  the  work  of  think- 
ing an  author's  thoughts  after  him. 

3.  Another  requisite,  needed  by  way  of  regulative,  is  accurate 
control  of  what  may  be  called  "  the  personal  equation."     In  as- 
tronomical observations  made  by  different  persons,  allowance  has 
to  be  made  for  the  fact  that  some  have  a  quicker  eye  than  others, 
and  consequently  can  note  the  instant  of  a  star's  transit  more 
exactly;   and  this  allowance  for  discrepancies  between  different 
observers  is  called  the  personal  equation.     With  equal  pertinence 
it  may  be  said  that  there  is  a  personal  equation  to  be  allowed  for 
in  criticism.      That  is,  there  is  a  tendency,  greater  or  less,  to 
read  into  the  original  one's  own  ideas,  or  to  give  the  original  a 
coloring  not  accurately  its  own,  by  prejudices  and  preconceptions. 
Some  imaginative  interpreters  are  utterly  untrustworthy  on  this 
account.     And  no  interpreter  can  be  unerring  without  some  de- 
terminate culture  designed  to  efface  his  own  conceptions  in  the 
presence  of  his  author's.     The  conscientious  critic  will  keep  strict 
watch  of  such  tendency  in  himself,  and  labor  to  reduce  the  per- 

Lowell,  "  Among  my  Books,"  First  Series,  p.  176. 


REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT.  307 

sonal  error  to  a  minimum.  The  ideal  for  him  is  to  be  a  perfectly 
transparent,  unrefracting  medium  for  the  transmission  of  the  orig- 
inal author's  thought ;  and  in  making  an  interpretation  not  infre- 
quently he  may  have  to  work  over  his  transcript  many  times,  with 
utmost  solicitude,  in  order  to  make  sure  of  retaining  no  distorting 
elements  due  to  his  own  personal  views. 

The  self-culture  needed  to  develop  and  confirm  these  requisites 
makes  the  work  of  interpretation  one  of  the  most  valuable  of  ex- 
ercises for  giving  the  writer  control  of  inventive  processes,  and  for 
making  his  reading  and  observation  valuable  to  him.  This  aspect 
of  interpretation  has  already  been  discussed  to  some  extent,  under 
Disciplinary  Reading,  page  237. 

II.    ABSTRACT. 

Abstract,  or  precis-writing,  is  the  name  given  to  that  process  of 
discourse  wherein  the  thought  of  a  literary  work  is  reproduced  in 
narrower  compass. 

Occasion  and  Method. — As  the  object  in  making  abstract  is 
to  reduce  the  thought  to  a  scale  more  convenient  for  present  use, 
it  is  evident  that  the  process  is  employed  merely  in  cases  where 
not  so  much  depends  on  the  style  of  the  thought  as  upon  its  bulk ; 
cases  where  the  original  will  bear  to  be  cut  down  without  losing 
its  distinctive  character.  Some  kinds  of  discourse,  poetry  for 
instance,  do  not  easily  lend  themselves  to  abstract ;  nor  is  it  ordi- 
narily needed  except  in  such  work  as  condensing  narrative,  giving 
the  main  points  in  argument  and  exposition,  and  the  like. 

In  making  abstract  the  scale  may  be  reduced  to  any  desired 
degree,  the  general  endeavor  being  to  condense  all  parts  uni- 
formly, and  to  get  the  most  possible  in  the  chosen  space.  The 
ideal,  then,  is  a  concise  and  compact  style,  without  ornament  and 
without  superfluities.  In  pursuance  of  this  ideal,  abstract  employs, 
according  to  the  character  of  the  thought,  two  main  processes : 
selection  and  condensation. 

i.  Selection  is  the  prevailing  process  where  the  thought  is  artic- 
ulated in  propositions  and  proofs,  or  in  generals  and  details; 


308  REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT. 

where,  in  a  word,  there  is  a  traceable  distinction  between  the 
main  thoughts  and  the  amplification.  A  selective  abstract,  on  the 
narrowest  scale,  may  take  the  form  of  a  mere  schedule  of  head- 
ings ;  and  from  this  it  may  exhibit  various  degrees  of  fullness,  up 
to  a  complete  presentation  of  every  unamplified  thought. 

EXAMPLE.  —  It  was  a  custom  of  Carlyle's  to  give  at  the  end  of  his  books  a 
brief  resume  of  his  various  chapters  by  way  of  summary.  The  method  was 
selection,  and  the  abstract  gave  only  the  nucleus  of  each  paragraph.  The  fol- 
lowing will  exhibit  the  general  proportion  of  original  and  abstract :  — 

"  Of  Rousseau  and  his  Heroism  I  cannot  say  so         "  Rousseau,  a  morbid, 
much.     He  is  not  what  I  call  a  strong  man.     A     excitable,  spasmodic  man ; 
morbid,  excitable,  spasmodic  man;   at  best  intense     intense  rather  than  strong, 
rather  than  strong.     He  had  not  '  the  talent  of  Si-     Had   not    the   invaluable 
lence,'  an  invaluable  talent;  which  few  Frenchmen,     '  talent  of  Silence.' " 
or  indeed  men  of  any  sort  in  these  times,  excel  in ! 
The  suffering  man  ought  really  '  to  consume  his 
own  smoke ' ;   there  is  no  good  in  emitting  smoke 
till  you  have  made  it  into  fire,  —  which,  in  the 
metaphorical  sense  too,  all  smoke  is  capable  of  be- 
coming !     Rousseau  has  not  depth  or  width,  not 
calm  force  for  difficulty;   the  first  characteristic  of 
true  greatness.     A  man  is  not  strong  who  takes 
convulsion-fits;   though  six  men  cannot  hold  him 
then.    He  that  can  walk  under  the  heaviest  weight 
without  staggering,  he  is  the  strong  man.    We  need 
forever,  especially  in  these  loud-shrieking  days,  to 
remind  ourselves  of  that.    A  man  who  cannot  hold 
his  peace,  till  the  time  come  for  speaking  and  act- 
ing, is  no  right  man." 

Here  it  will  be  observed  that  the  part  left  is  merely  the  amplification  of 
the  idea  how  important  is  silence,  while  the  nucleus  of  that  thought  is  selected 
for  abstract.  The  whole  section  on  Rousseau  is  represented  in  about  the 
same  proportion;  thus:  (2)  "His  Face,  expressive  of  his  character.  (3)  His 
Egoism :  Hungry  for  the  praises  of  men.  (4)  His  books :  Passionate  appeals, 
which  did  once  more  struggle  towards  Reality:  A  Prophet  to  his  Time;  as 
he  could,  and  as  the  Time  could.  (5)  Rosepink,  and  artificial  bedizenment. 
(6)  Fretted,  exasperated,  till  the  heart  of  him  went  mad :  He  could  be  cooped, 
starving,  into  garrets;  laughed  at  as  a  maniac;  but  he  could  not  be  hindered 
from  setting  the  world  on  fire." 


REPRODUCTION   OF  THOUGHT.  309 

2.  Condensation  is  the  prevailing  process  where,  as  in  the  case 
of  narration,  the  bearing  of  the  thought  is  gathered  from  the 
whole,  and  where  accordingly  every  part  must  share  proportion- 
ally in  the  abridgement.  It  is  generally  combined  with  selection, 
being  employed  for  cutting  down  the  amplified  parts  so  that  the 
thought  may  still  be  particularized  and  readable,  though  contain- 
ing fewer  and  less  minute  details.  This  form  of  abstract  is  exem- 
plified in  abridged  histories. 

NOTE. — This  form  of  abstract,  or  abridgement,  cannot  well  be  exemplified 
alongside  of  its  original,  in  the  space  here  at  command;  but  an  illustration  of 
the  skillful  condensation  of  a  narrative  into  very  brief  space  may  be  quoted 
from  Macaulay :  — 

"  You  remember  Gulliver's  adventures.  First  he  is  shipwrecked  in  a  coun- 
try of  little  men;  and  he  is  a  Colossus  among  them.  He  strides  over  the 
walls  of  their  capital :  he  stands  higher  than  the  cupola  of  their  great  temple : 
he  tugs  after  him  a  royal  fleet :  he  stretches  his  legs ;  and  a  royal  army,  with 
drums  beating  and  colors  flying,  marches  through  the  gigantic  arch :  he  de- 
vours a  whole  granary  for  breakfast,  eats  a  herd  of  cattle  for  dinner,  and 
washes  down  his  meal  with  all  the  hogsheads  of  a  cellar.  In  his  next  voyage 
he  is  among  men  sixty  feet  high.  He  who,  in  Lilliput,  used  to  take  people  up 
in  his  hand,  in  order  that  he  might  be  able  to  hear  them,  is  himself  taken  up 
in  the  hands  and  held  to  the  ears  of  his  masters.  It  is  all  that  he  can  do  to 
defend  himself  with  his  hanger  against  the  rats  and  mice.  The  court  ladies 
amuse  themselves  with  seeing  him  fight  wasps  and  frogs  :  the  monkey  runs  off 
with  him  to  the  chimney-top :  the  dwarf  drops  him  into  the  cream  jug  and 
leaves  him  to  swim  for  his  life.  Now,  was  Gulliver  a  tall  or  a  short  man  ? 
Why,  in  his  own  house  at  Rotherhithe,  he  was  thought  a  man  of  the 
ordinary  stature.  Take  him  to  Lilliput ;  and  he  is  Quinbus  Flestrin,  the 
Man  Mountain.  Take  him  to  Brobdingnag,  and  he  is  Grildrig,  the  little 
Mannikin." 

This  is  introduced  by  Macaulay  into  one  of  his  speeches  in  order  to  illus- 
trate a  thought;  and  it  represents,  perhaps,  the  kind  of  abstract  that  there  is 

most  frequent  occasion  to  make,  in  real  literature. 

* 

Value  of  Abstract  as  a  Disciplinary  Exercise.  —  In  common 
with  the  other  processes  detailed  in  the  present  chapter,  while  in 
itself  a  distinct  literary  form,  abstract  has  also  special  value  as  a 
means  of  frequent  discipline  to  the  writer. 


310  REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT. 

Its  value  is  perhaps  best  expressed  in  the  following  words  of 
Dr.  Arnold  of  Rugby l  to  one  of  his  former  pupils  :  — 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  you  continue  to  practice  composition,  but 
above  all  I  would  advise  you  to  make  an  abstract  of  one  or  two 
standard  works.  One,  I  should  say  in  philosophy ;  —  the  other  in 
history.  I  would  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  finish  them,  but  keep  them 
constantly  going  on,  —  with  one  page  always  clear  for  notes.  The 
abstract  itself  practices  you  in  condensing  and  giving  in  your  own 
words  what  another  man  has  said ;  a  habit  of  great  value,  as  it 
forces  one  to  think  about  it,  which  extracting  merely  does  not. 
It  further  gives  a  brevity  and  simplicity  to  your  language,  two  of 
the  greatest  merits  which  style  can  have." 

As  an  exercise  in  interpretation,  abstract  is  valuable  as  training 
the  writer  in  selecting  the  cardinal  thoughts  of  a  work  and  sepa- 
rating them  from  what  is  of  less  importance. 

Rules  of  Abstract.  —  From  the  above  remarks  and  examples, 
we  ascertain  that  skillful  writers  of  abstract  observe  the  following 
rules :  — 

x.  Give  nothing  in  the  reproduction  that  is  not  in  the  original. 

2.  Give  merely  what  is  essential  to  the  main  current  of  the  thought, 
omitting  illustrative,  repetitionary,  and  amplifying  details. 

3.  Observe  the  laws  of  condensation  (see  preceding,  page  154),  in 
giving  comprehensive  and  general  statements  instead  of  particulars, 
word-modifiers   instead   of  clause-modifiers,  suggestive   and  pointed 
terms  instead  of  detailed  language. 

4.  In  general,  aim  to  be  accurate,  distinct,  concise,  without  repeti- 
tion and  without  ornament. 

III.     PARAPHRASE. 

Paraphrase  is  the  reproduction  of  an  author's  complete  thought, 
both  main  and  subordinate,  in  other  language.  When  it  is  also  a 
change  from  the  poetic  form  to  prose,  it  is  called  Metaphrase. 

Utility  of  Paraphrase.  —  Paraphrase  is  often  spoken  of  in  re- 
proachful terms,  as  if  it  were  nothing  but  a  dilution  of  the  thought. 
1  Stanley,  "  Life  of  Arnold,"  Vol.  I.  p.  334. 


REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT,  311 

Any  well-written  production,  it  is  said,  is  expressed  in  masterly 
style  already ;  besides,  it  so  reflects  the  author's  individual  traits 
and  felicities  that  any  change  in  the  language  must  necessarily 
destroy  its  distinctive  character.  "  The  one  apt  word  "  cannot  be 
exchanged  for  another  but  for  the  worse. 

All  this  is  true  enough  ;  but  it  does  not  consider  that  paraphrase, 
when  legitimately  employed,  has  a  distinctive  object.  If  it  were 
merely  tinkering  with  expression,  mere  manipulation  of  words  for 
idle  whim,  or  even  for  exercise,  the  reproach  would  hold.  But 
this  does  not  give  the  true  use  of  paraphrase.  Paraphrase  has  one 
clear  object,  —  namely,  to  explain.  The  one  quality  it  seeks  to 
enhance  is  clearness.  Now  from  various  causes  this  quality  may 
be  lacking,  even  in  masterly  works.  The  material  may  be  too 
condensed  to  be  easily  understood ;  or  its  abstruseness  may  re- 
quire simplifying  terms  ;  or  it  may  be  an  old  work,  and  expressed 
in  a  diction  too  antique  for  present  usage.  It  needs  to  be  worked 
over,  restated  in  fuller  or  simpler  or  more  modern  idiom.  Para- 
phrase, therefore,  is  essentially  a  means  of  interpretation.  It  does 
not  replace  the  original  but  explains  it ;  and  it  is  naturally  em- 
ployed only  in  cases  where  the  new  expression  will  gain  more  by 
its  greater  clearness  than  it  loses  in  felicity  of  diction. 

In  a  word,  then,  the  special  use  of  paraphrase  is  to  bring  out 
the  latent  sense  or  significance  of  a  passage,  by  stating  in  new 
terms  points  that  would  otherwise  be  missed  or  misunderstood. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  following,  from  Matthew  Arnold,  well  illustrates  the 
utility  of  paraphrase.  So  far  from  diluting  the  original,  it  is  really  a  very 
felicitous  explanation  effected  by  mere  change  of  expression :  — 

"  '  I  was  alive  without  the  law  once,'  says  Paul;  the  natural  play  of  all  the 
forces  and  desires  in  me  went  on  smoothly  enough  so  long  as  I  did  not  attempt 
to  introduce  order  and  regulation  among  them." 

Dean  Stanley,  in  his  Commentary  on  Corinthians,  employs  paraphrase 
throughout,  in  addition  to  translation  and  notes,  in  order  to  represent  the 
thought  in  full,  as  freed  from  the  peculiar  difficulties  of  St.  Paul's  style.  He 
thus  justifies  his  procedure:  "The  Paraphrase  is  intended  to  bring  out  the 
meaning  of  the  respective  Sections,  as  explained  in  the  preceding  annotations. 
The  risk,  thus  incurred,  of  diluting,  and,  it  may  be  feared,  at  times  lowering 


312 


REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT. 


the  dignity  and  simplicity  of  the  original,  is  obvious.  But  the  convenience  of 
presenting  the  argument  in  a  brief  summary  is  such  as  to  overweigh  the  con- 
trary disadvantages." 

As  an  illustration  of  paraphrase  in  its  most  justifiable  use,  we  may  here 
place  side  by  side  the  passage  I  Corinthians,  xv.  i-n,  and  Dean  Stanley's  re- 
production of  it  in  more  modern  guise. 


I.  Moreover,  brethren,  I  declare 
unto  you  the  gospel  which  I  preached 
unto  you,  which  also  ye  have  received, 
and  wherein  ye  stand; 


2.  By  which  also  ye  are  saved,  if 
ye  keep  in  memory  what  I  preached 
unto  you,  unless  ye  have  believed  in 
vain. 

3.  For  I  delivered  unto  you  first 
of  all  that  which  I  also  received, 


how  that 

Christ  died  for  our  sins  according  to 
the  Scriptures; 


4.  And  that  he  was  buried,  and 
that  he  rose  again  the  third  day  ac- 
cording to  the  Scriptures; 


5.  And  that  he  was  seen  of  Cephas, 
then  of  the  twelve : 


"  I  now  call  to  your  remembrance, 
in  conclusion,  the  substance  of  the 
glad  tidings  which  I  announced  to 
you,  and  the  mode  in  which  I  told 
it;  glad  tidings  indeed  of  which  you 
hardly  need  to  be  reminded,  since  you 
not  only  received  it  from  me,  but  have 
made  it  the  foundation  of  your  lives 
ever  since;  and  not  only  have  made 
it  the  foundation  of  your  lives,  but 
are  to  be  saved  by  it  now  and  here- 
after, if  only  you  hold  it  fast  in  your 
recollection,  if  your  conversion  was 
anything  more  than  a  mere  transitory 
impulse.  Yes,  you  must  remember  it; 
for  it  was  among  the  very  first  things 
which  I  told  to  you,  as  it  was  among 
the  very  first  which  I  learned  myself. 
It  was :  That  Christ  died  for  our 
sins,  fulfilling  in  His  death  the  proph- 
ecies concerning  One  who  was  to  be 
wounded  for  our  transgressions  and 
bruised  for  our  iniquities,  and  whose 
soul  was  to  be  an  offering  for  sin. 
That  He  was  laid  in  the  sepulchre, 
and  that  out  of  that  sepulchre  He  has 
been  raised  up  and  lives  to  die  no 
more,  again  fulfilling  the  words  in  the 
Psalms,  which  declare  that  His  soul 
should  not  be  left  in  the  grave,  and  • 
that  the  Holy  One  should  not  see  cor- 
ruption. I  told  you  also,  as  a  proof 
of  this,  that  He  appeared  to  Kephas, 
chief  of  the  Apostles,  and  then  to  the 


REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT. 


313 


6.  After  that,  he  was  seen  of  above 
five  hundred  brethren  at  once ;  of 
whom  the  greater  part  remain  unto 
this  present,  but  some  are  fallen 
asleep. 


Apostles  collectively.  Next  came  the 
great  appearance  to  more  than  five 
hundred  believers  together,  the  ma- 
jority of  whom  are  still  living  to  tes- 
tify to  it,  though  some  few  have  car- 
ried their  testimony  with  them  to  the 
grave.  Then  again  came  a  two-fold 
appearance ;  this  time  not  to  Kephas, 
but  to  his  great  colleague,  James,  and 
afterwards,  as  before,  to  the  Apostles 
collectively.  Last  of  all,  when  the 
roll  of  Apostles  seemed  to  be  com- 
plete, was  the  sudden  appearance  to 
me;  a  just  delay,  a  just  humiliation 
for  one  whose  persecution  of  the  con- 
gregation of  God's  people  did  indeed 
sink  me  below  the  level  of  the  Apos- 
tles, and  rendered  me  unworthy  even 
of  the  name,  and  makes  me  feel  that 
I  owe  all  to  the  undeserved  favor  of 
God.  A  favor  indeed  which  was  not 
bestowed  in  vain,  which  has  issued  in 
a  life  of  exertion  far  exceeding  that 
of  all  the  Apostles,  from  whose  num- 
ber some  would  wish  to  exclude  me; 
but  yet,  after  all,  an  exertion  not  the 
result  of  my  own  strength,  but  of  this 
same  Favor  toiling  with  me  as  my 
constant  companion.  It  is  not,  how- 
ever, on  any  distinction  between  my- 
self and  the  other  Apostles,  that  I 
would  now  dwell.  I  confine  myself 
to  the  one  great  fact  of  which  we  all 
alike  are  the  heralds,  and  which  was 
alike  to  all  of  you  the  foundation  of 
your  faith." 

In  the  above  paraphrase  two  main  objects  seem  to  be  in  view :  to  bring  out 
more  closely  the  shades  of  meaning,  as  suggested  in  the  involvements  of  the 
original  words ;  and  to  bridge  over  abruptnesses  in  the  connexion  of  the 
thought,  so  as  to  make  the  narrative  more  continuous.  An  interesting  exam- 
ple of  paraphrase  employed  to  reproduce  an  argument  occurs  in  the  same 
Commentary  on  Corinthians,  page  324. 


7.  After  that,  he  was  seen  of  James; 
then  of  all  the  apostles. 

8.  And  last  of  all  he  was  seen  of 
me  also,  as  of  one  born  out  of  due 
time. 

9.  For  I  am  the  least  of  the  apos- 
tles, that  am  not  meet  to  be  called 
an  apostle,  because  I  persecuted  the 
church  of  God. 

10.  But  by  the  grace  of  God  I  am 
what  I  am :  and  his  grace  which  was 
bestowed  upon  me  was  not  in  vain; 
but  I  labored  more  abundantly  than 
thev  all : 


yet 

not  I,  but  the  grace  of  God  which 
was-  with  me. 

1 1 .  Therefore,  whether  it  were  I  or 
they, 


so  we  preach, 


and  so  ye  believed. 


314  REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT. 

Value  of  Paraphrase  as  a  Discipline.  —  As  a  disciplinary  ex- 
ercise for  the  writer,  paraphrase  is  valuable,  constructively,  as  a 
means  of  acquiring  copiousness  and  flexibility  in  language.  Its 
principal  value,  however,  is  critical,  —  as  a  means  of  evolving  the 
latent  significance  of  a  passage.  The  skillful  paraphrast  has  a 
quick  eye  for  all  the  fine  and  undeveloped  shades  of  meaning ;  he 
penetrates  to  the  kernel  of  thought  lying  obscured  in  vague  hints 
or  expressions ;  he  is  patient  to  interpret  all  the  joints  and  turnings 
of  the  thought,  as  expressed  in  particles  and  connectives.  Thus 
paraphrasing  ministers  to  fineness  of  scholarship ;  it  can  be  con- 
ducted successfully  only  by  one  who  is 

"  Keen  thro'  wordy  snares  to  track 
Suggestion  to  her  inmost  cell." 

Rules  of  Paraphrase.  —  From  the  above  remarks  and  examples 
the  following  rules  of  paraphrase  may  be  deduced  :  — 

1.  Seek  to  reproduce  what  is  involved  in  the  original,  and  no  more. 

Observe  that  an  allusion,  or  a  phrase-epithet,  or  the  suggestiveness  of  a  par- 
ticle, belongs  legitimately  to  what  is  involved  in  the  passage,  and  must  in  some 
way  be  accounted  for  in  the  reproduction. 

2.  Let  all  changes  be  made  for  the  sake  of  greater  clearness. 

If  this  one  object  is  kept  well  in  mind,  the  writer  will  not  be  likely  to  per- 
petrate those  fantastic  or  tasteless  or  pedantic  reproductions,  the  like  of  which 
have  done  so  much  to  bring  paraphrase  into  reproach. 

3.  Guard  against  weakening  the  thought  of  the  original. 

This  is  the  main  evil  tendency  of  paraphrase;  and  is  best  to  be  met  by  be- 
coming so  permeated  with  the  importance  of  the  thought  that  any  reproduc- 
tion of  it  shall  contain  also  the  original  vigor  and  incisiveness. 

4.  Endeavor  to   maintain  unimpaired   the  tone   and  spirit  of  the 
original. 

Compare  what  has  already  been  said  on  the  maintenance  of  the  tone  of 
discourse,  page  83  above. 

This  last  rule  has  an  especial  application  in  the  case  of  meta- 
phrase, where  a  poetic  spirit  and  feeling  is  to  be  guarded  and 


REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT.  315 

cherished.  True  poetry  is  poetic  in  thought  as  well  as  in  ex- 
pression ;  and  any  reproduction  that  lowers  the  tone  of  the  orig- 
inal, or  makes  a  prosaic  impression  upon  the  reader,  is  not  an 
honest  reproduction.  No  rule  can  be  given  for  effecting  this ;  it 
depends  on  the  writer's  capacity  to  appreciate  poetry ;  but  if  the 
original  does  not  thrill  him,  according  to  its  true  intention,  he  has 
no  business  with  it. 

NOTE.  —  The  following  facetious  comment  on  a  stanza  of  Tennyson  does 
not  damage  the  poet  at  all;  it  merely  reveals  that  the  critic  takes  refuge  in 
satire  because  his  nature  is  too  prosaic  to  appreciate  the  original.  The  stanza 
is:  — 

"  So  might  I  find,  ere  yet  the  morn 
Breaks  hither  over  Indian  seas, 
That  Shadow  waiting  with  the  keys, 
To  cloak  me  from  my  proper  scorn." 

On  this  the  sapient  critic  remarks :  "  Lately  we  have  heard  much  of  keys  both 
from  the  Flaminian  Gate  and  Piccadilly,  but  we  back  this  verse  against  Hobbs. 
We  dare  him  to  pick  it.  Mr.  Moxon  may  hang  it  up  in  his  window,  with  a 
200  /.  prize  attached,  more  safely  than  a  Bramah.  That  a  Shadow  should  hold 
keys  at  all,  is  a  noticeable  circumstance;  but  that  it  should  wait  with  a  cloak 
ready  to  be  thrown  over  a  gentleman  in  difficulties,  is  absolutely  amazing." 

A  gentleman  in  difficulties,  —  is  not  this  poetic? 

IV.    TRANSLATION. 

In  translation  the  writer's  task  is  to  reproduce  the  thought  in 
exactly  equivalent  expression,  neither  expanded  nor  abridged,  in 
another  language. 

It  is  to  be  remembered  at  the  outset  that  we  are  here  speaking 
of  translation  as  literature,  not  of  the  hasty  and  slipshod  oral  re- 
production too  often  dignified,  in  the  class-room,  by  that  name. 
It  is  the  well-meditated  and  written  translation  that  represents  the 
writer's  best  powers ;  such  patient  work  as  is  recorded  of  Rufus 
Choate,  of  whom  it  is  said,1  "  He  would  return  day  after  day  to 
the  same  passage,  until  he  had  exhausted  the  resources  of  the 

1  Neilson,  "  Memories  of  Rufus  Choate,"  p.  67. 


316  REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT. 

language  in  giving  to  the  sentence  exactness,  strength,  and  ele- 
gance." Not  infrequently  an  author  who  has  pursued  such  an 
ideal  has  gained  an  honorable  place  in  literature  merely  as  "  the 
translator  "  of  some  classic  work. 

Requisites  of  a  Perfect  Translation.  —  These  need  to  be  re- 
counted as  the  translator's  ideal  standard  ;  though  a  perfect  transfer 
of  both  thought  and  style  from  one  language  to  another,  at  least  in 
works  of  literary  eminence,  is  exceedingly  difficult,  perhaps  im- 
possible. What  these  requisites  are,  may  be  gathered  from  the 
rules  of  translation,  to  which  will  be  added  some  remarks  on  their 
limits  and  applications. 

i.  The  paramount  requisite  of  translation,  of  course,  is  that  there  be 
made  an  exact  and  literal  equivalent,  in  word  and  phrase,  of  the 
original. 

This  requisite  has  its  necessary  limitations.  No  two  languages 
are  furnished  throughout  with  exactly  equivalent  terms.  For  all 
the  common  objects  of  life,  indeed,  objects  of  sense  and  everyday 
experience,  languages  are  nearly  enough  parallel ;  but  when  it 
comes  to  fine  mental  discriminations,  ideas  and  customs  wherein 
nations  differ,  or  portrayal  of  things  strange  or  obsolete,  it  is  found 
that  languages  occupy  different  spheres,  and  are  the  congenial 
medium  of  different  shades  of  ideas.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  we 
say  the  German  language  is  especially  adapted  to  abstruse  and 
philosophic  thought ;  that  the  French  is  the  language  of  polite  and 
witty  society ;  and  that  the  English  is  an  excellent  medium  for 
practical  and  straightforward  business.  Where  one  language  is 
richly  furnished  another  may  be  somewhat  awkward  and  meagre. 
To  make  a  complete  transfer  of  ideas,  then,  from  one  language  to 
another,  often  requires  that  words  be  used  in  slightly  accommo- 
dated senses,  or  that  parts  be  somewhat  paraphrased  instead  of 
literally  reproduced ;  and  sometimes  with  the  most  studious  efforts 
translators  have  to  content  themselves  with  only  an  approximate 
transfer  of  the  sense.  Such  necessity  it  is  that  leads  to  the  gradual 
but  constant  adoption  of  words  from  foreign  languages ;  so  that 


REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT.  317 

through  the  exigencies  of  translation  the  languages  are  accommo- 
dating themselves  more  and  more  to  one  another. 

2.  Mere  literalness  of  translation,  however,  is  adequate  only  in 
material  of  the  purely  intellectual  type.  The  translation,  in  order  to  be 
faithful,  must  reproduce  in  some  equivalent  form  the  spirit  and  feel- 
ing of  the  original,  a  task  increasingly  difficult  according  to  the  orig- 
inal writer's  individuality  and  the  prevalence  of  the  emotional  element 
in  the  production. 

The  significance  of  this  element  of  translation  may  best  be 
defined,  perhaps,  in  the  words  of  Dr.  Tayler  Lewis.1 

"  A  perfect  translation,"  he  writes,  "  is  one  that  conveys  to  the 
mind  of  the  reader,  without  either  excess  or  deficiency,  the 
thought  as  it  lay  in  the  mind  of  the  writer.  The  two  constituent 
elements  of  every  thought  thus  expressed  are  the  idea  and  the 
emotion.  Both  must  be  transferred,  the  one  neither  enlarged  nor 
diminished,  the  other  neither  strengthened  nor  weakened.  They 
are  addressed  to  two  departments  of  the  soul,  the  one  to  the  intel- 
lect as  something  to  be  known,  the  other  to  the  affections  as 
something  to  be  felt.  They  are  logically  separable,  though  indi- 
visible m  fact.  The  idea  can  never  be  clearly  given  without  the 
emotion ;  the  emotion  can  never  be  felt  in  its  spiritual  heartiness 
without  accuracy  in  the  accompanying  idea. 

"  When  the  first  element  predominates,  translation  is  compara- 
tively easy.  It  is  in  such  case  mainly  the  transfer  of  the  force  of 
single  equivalent  words  from  one  language  to  another.  Such 
equivalents  may  always  be  found,  or  periphrases  that  do  not  change 
the  sense ;  since  what  would  affect  the  strength  may  not  impair 
the  fullness  or  clearness  of  a  sentence.  When  the  second  element, 
of  emotion,  so  prevails  as  to  give  character  to  the  passage,  transla- 
tion becomes  far  more  difficult ;  a  perfect  translation  is  sometimes 
impossible.  The  reason  of  this  is  that  the  emotion  of  a  sentence, 
as  distinguished  from  the  fact  or  knowledge  conveyed,  rests  mainly 

i  Article  on  "The  Emotional  Element  in  Hebrew  Translation,"  Methodist 
Quarterly  Review,  1862,  p.  85. 


318  REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT. 

in  some  peculiar  collocation  of  the  words,  giving  rise  to  emphasis 
and  surprise,  or  in  some  peculiar  effect  of  those  parts  of  speech  we 
style  the  particles.1  It  resides,  sometimes,  in  the  very  absence  of 
words,  paradoxical  as  such  an  assertion  may  at  first  appear.  It 
may  dwell  in  an  ellipsis,  from  which  it  would  be  driven  out  by  any 
attempt  at  filling  up.  The  tender  breath  of  its  being  is  conveyed 
in  the  delicate  implication  of  some  connective  particle,  and  it 
perishes  the  moment  we  attempt  to  reduce  that  particle  to  a 
thought,  or  to  render  it  by  any  word  containing  a  distinct  logical 
statement.  These  little  words  are  the  emotional  germs  of  a  sen- 
tence. They  are  called  particles  {particular)  merely  in  reference 
to  the  diminutive  space  they  occupy ;  but  this  mere  quantitative 
term  is  far  wide  of  their  spiritual  significance.  They  are  rather 
articles,  the  articulations  or  joints  of  a  sentence,  without  which  all 
its  bone  and  muscle  of  nouns  and  verbs  would  have  no  power  of 
moving  or  of  being  moved.  Without  these,  or  idiomatic  con- 
structions having  a  similar  power,  there  would  be  nothing  in  lan- 
guage but  a  siccum  lumen,  a  dry  intelligence.  They  are  the  nerves, 
the  nervous  pulsations ;  they  are  the  cells  of  life,  yea,  the  very  life 
itself." 

3.  What  is  peculiar  to  one  language,  is  to  be  reproduced,  where 
possible,  by  what  is  correspondingly  peculiar  to  the  other. 

This  applies  to  idioms,  colloquial  peculiarities,  and  order  of 
words. 

An  idiom,  as  is  evident  from  what  is  said  on  page  46,  is,  strictly 
speaking,  untranslatable ;  but  not  infrequently  there  may  exist  in 
the  other  language  some  idiom  that,  though  not  a  literal  equiva- 
lent, produces  the  same  effect,  and  is  used  in  a  corresponding 
spirit.  It  is  a  boon  to  the  translator  when  such  an  equivalent  can 
be  found,  because  it  adds  greatly  to  the  life  and  naturalness  of  the 
production. 

NOTE.  —  This  is  illustrated  in  the  case  of  popular  proverbs  and  expressions, 
which  are  generally  idiomatic.  Take  for  instance  two  or  three  of  the  German 

1  On  what  is  here  said  of  particles,  compare  preceding,  pp.  67,  68. 


REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT.  319 

equivalents  for  English  proverbs.  "  A  fool's  bolt  is  soon  shot "  is  represented 
in  German  by  "  A  fool's  wit  is  soon  ended."  "  To  kindle  fire  with  snow  "  is 
represented  by  "to  hitch  the  horse  behind  the  wagon."  The  expression 
"  doom's-day  in  the  afternoon  "  is  in  German  "  St.  Never's  day." 

Colloquialisms,  slang,  provincialisms,  and  the  like,  have  to  be 
represented  by  something  that  belongs  to  the  same  tone  or  stratum 
of  discourse,  something  that,  whether  literal  or  not,  consists  with 
the  same  freedom  and  neglige  of  spirit.  It  is  a  translation  of  mood 
more  than  of  definite  thought.  For  the  differences  in  the  tone 
of  discourse,  see  preceding,  page  83. 

EXAMPLE.  —  In  the  Acharnians  of  Aristophanes,  one  of  the  characters,  a 
Megarian  pig-seller,  talks  in  a  very  broad  provincial  dialect,  which  the  trans- 
lator, Walsh,  has  represented  by  the  medium  of  the  Lowland  Scotch.  Thus, 
a  passage  which,  literally  translated,  is  as  follows, — 

"  Is  it  not  shameful  ?    See  the  incredulity  of  the  man !     He  says  this  is  not 
a  pig.     But  sooth,  if  you  will,  make  a  wager  with  me  now  for  salt  flavored 
with  thyme,  if  this  is  not  a  pig  after  the  usage  of  the  Greeks  "  — 
he  translates  in  verse  thus,  — 

"  This  is  maist  shamefu' !    What  an  infidel 
He  is !     He  says  this  is  nae  pig  aval 
Weel,  an  ye  like,  I'se  wad  some  thymit  saut, 
That  this  wee  thing  is  ca'd  a  pig  in  Greek." 

This  is  quoted,  not  as  justifying  the  present  translation,  but  as  illustrating  the 
translator's  shifts  to  reproduce  certain  characteristics  of  his  original. 

The  order  of  words,  in  like  manner,  cannot  be  slavishly  fol- 
lowed :  what  would  be  emphatic  at  the  beginning  of  a  clause  in 
one  language,  for  instance,  would  perhaps  best  be  brought  out  by 
being  placed  at  the  end,  in  a  language  of  different  genius. 

To  a  limited  extent  the  idiomatic  peculiarities  of  one  language 
may  gradually  be  transplanted  to  another,  and  thus  be  adopted 
like  new  words.  The  translation  of  the  Bible,  for  instance,  has 
enriched  the  English  language  with  many  figures  and  turns  of 
expression  from  the  Hebrew,  which  are  now  so  thoroughly  natural- 
ized, even  in  the  commonest  usage,  that  no  sense  is  felt  of  their 
strangeness. 


320  REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT. 

Translation  as  a  Discipline.  —  The  high  estimate  set  upon 
translation  as  a  means  of  literary  discipline,  and  the  reasons  for  it, 
may  perhaps  best  be  illustrated  by  quoting  remarks  of  eminent 
authors. 

"  Wherever  it  is  attended  to,"  says  Dr.  Arnold,1  "  it  is  an  exer- 
cise of  exceeding  value ;  it  is,  in  fact,  one  of  the  best  possible 
modes  of  instruction  in  English  composition,  because  the  constant 
comparison  with  the  different  idioms  of  the  languages,  from  which 
you  are  translating,  shows  you  in  the  most  lively  manner  the  pecu- 
liar excellences  and  defects  of  your  own." 

"  The  practice  of  translation,"  says  James  Russell  Lowell,2  "  by 
making  us  deliberate  in  the  choice  of  the  best  equivalent  of  the 
foreign  word  in  our  own  language,  has  likewise  the  advantage  of 
continually  schooling  us  in  one  of  the  main  elements  of  a  good 
style,  —  precision;  and  precision  of  thought  is  not  only  exem- 
plified by  precision  of  language,  but  is  largely  dependent  on  the 
habit  of  it." 

"Translation,"  says  Rufus  Choate,3 "  should  be  pursued  to  bring 
to  mind,  and  to  employ,  all  the  words  you  already  own,  and  to  tax 
and  torment  invention  and  discovery,  and  the  very  deepest  mem- 
ory for  additional,  rich,  and  admirably  expressive  words.  In  trans- 
lating, the  student  should  not  put  down  a  word  until  he  has  thought 
of  at  least  six  synonyms,  or  varieties  of  expression,  for  the  idea.  I 
would  have  him  fastidious  and  eager  enough  to  go,  not  unfre- 
quently,  half  round  his  library  pulling  down  books  to  hunt  up  a 
word  —  the  word." 

The  Untranslatable. — As  has  already  been  intimated,  in  all 
the  higher  achievements  of  literature  there  must  necessarily  remain 
a  great  deal  that,  in  spite  of  the  utmost  skill,  cannot  be  adequately 
reproduced  in  another  language.  "  The  thought  may  indeed  sur- 
vive, though  marred  and  mutilated,  but  the  subtle  spiritual  aroma, 
the  emotional  essence,  perishes  in  the  transmission." 

1  Stanley,  "  Life  of  Arnold,"  Vol.  II.  p.  112. 

2  Lowell,  "  Democracy  and  Other  Addresses,"  p.  126. 
8  Neilson,  "  Memories  of  Rufus  Choate,"  p.  67. 


REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT.  321 

This  is  preeminently  true  of  the  translation  of  poetry ;  and  what- 
ever is  said,  therefore,  of  the  translation  of  poetry  will  be  true  of 
the  untranslatable  anywhere.  In  elucidating  this  important  sub- 
ject, we  cannot  do  better  than  transcribe  the  very  suggestive  re- 
marks and  examples  of  George  Henry  Lewes,1  given  in  his  "  Life 
of  Goethe." 

"  Several  times  in  these  pages,"  he  says,  "  I  have  felt  called 
upon  to  protest  against  the  adequacy  of  all  translation  of  poetry. 
In  its  happiest  efforts,  translation  is  but  approximation;  and  its 
efforts  are  not  often  happy.  A  translation  may  be  good  as  trans- 
lation, but  it  cannot  be  an  adequate  reproduction  of  the  original. 
It  may  be  a  good  poem ;  it  may  be  a  good  imitation  of  another 
poem ;  it  may  be  better  than  the  original ;  but  it  cannot  be  an 
adequate  reproduction ;  it  cannot  be  the  same  thing  in  another 
language,  producing  the  same  effect  on  the  mind.  And  the  cause 
lies  deep  in  the  nature  of  poetry.  '  Melody,'  as  Beethoven  said  to 
Bettina,  '  gives  a  sensuous  existence  to  poetry ;  for  does  not  the 
meaning  of  a  poem  become  embodied  in  melody?  '  The  mean- 
ings of  a  poem  and  the  meanings  of  the  individual  words  may  be 
reproduced ;  but  in  a  poem  meaning  and  form  are  as  indissoluble 
as  soul  and  body ;  and  the  form  cannot  be  reproduced.  The  effect 
of  poetiy  is  a  compound  of  music  and  suggestion ;  this  music  and 
this  suggestion  are  intermingled  in  words,  to  alter  which  is  to  alter 
the  effect.  For  words  in  poetry  are  not,  as  in  prose,  simple  rep- 
resentatives of  objects  and  ideas :  they  are  parts  of  an  organic 
whole  —  they  are  tones  in  the  harmony ;  substitute  other  parts, 
and  the  result  is  a  monstrosity,  as  if  an  arm  were  substituted  for 
a  wing ;  substitute  other  tones  or  semitones,  and  you  produce  a 
discord.  Words  have  their  music  and  their  shades  of  meaning 
too  delicate  for  accurate  reproduction  in  any  other  form ;  the  sug- 
gestiveness  of  one  word  cannot  be  conveyed  by  another.  Now  all 
translation  is  of  necessity  a  substitution  of  one  word  for  another : 
the  substitute  may  express  the  meaning,  but  it  cannot  accurately 

i  Lewes,  "  Life  of  Goethe,"  2d  ed.  p.  466.     The  value  of  the  passage  will  more 
than  atone,  I  am  sure,  for  the  length  of  the  quotation. 


322  REPRODUCTION  OF   THOUGHT. 

reproduce  the  music,  nor  those  precise  shades  of  suggestiveness  on 
which  the  delicacy  and  beauty  of  the  original  depend. 

"  Words  are  not  only  symbols  of  objects,  but  centres  of  asso- 
ciations ;  and  their  suggestiveness  depends  partly  on  their  sound. 
Thus  there  is  not  the  slightest  difference  in  the  meaning  expressed 
when  I  say 

The  dews  of  night  began  to  fall, 
or 

The  nightly  dews  commenced  to  fall. 

Meaning  and  metre  are  the  same ;  but  one  is  poetry,  the  other 
prose.  Wordsworth  paints  a  landscape  in  this  line  : 

The  river  wanders  jjjpts  own  sweet  will. 
Let  us  translate  it  into  other  words  : 

The  river  runneth  free  from  all  restraint. 

We  preserve  the  meaning,  but  where  is  the  landscape?  Or  we 
may  turn  it  thus  : 

The  river  flows,  now  here,  now  there,  at  will,  — 

which  is  a  very  close  translation,  much  closer  than  any  usually 
found  in  a  foreign  language,  where  indeed  it  would  in  all  proba- 
bility assume  some  such  form  as  this  : 

The  river  self-impelled  pursues  its  course. 

In  these  examples  we  have  what  is  seldom  found  in  translations, 
accuracy  of  meaning  expressed  in  similar  metre ;  yet  the  music 
and  the  poetry  are  gone ;  because  the  music  and  the  poetry  are 
organically  dependent  on  certain  peculiar  arrangements  of  sound 
and  suggestion.  Walter  Scott  speaks  of  the  verse  of  a  ballad  by 
Mickle  which  haunted  his  boyhood ;  it  is  this  : 

The  dews  of  summer  night  did  fall; 

The  moon,  sweet  regent  of  the  sky, 
Silvered  the  walls  of  Cumnor  Hall, 

And  many  an  oak  that  grew  thereby. 


REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT.  323 

This  verse  we  will  rearrange  as  a  translator  would  rearrange  it : 

The  nightly  dews  commenced  to  fall; 

The  moon,  whose  empire  is  the  sky, 
Shone  on  the  sides  of  Cumnor  Hall, 

And  all  the  oaks  that  stood  thereby. 

Here  is  a  verse  which  certainly  would  never  have  haunted  any 
one  ;  and  yet  upon  what  apparently  slight  variations  the  difference 
of  effect  depends  !  The  meaning,  metre,  rhymes,  and  most  of 
the  words,  are  the  same  ;  yet  the  difference  in  the  result  is  infinite. 
Let  us  translate  it  a  little  more  freely : 

Sweetly  did  fall  the  dews  of  night; 

The  moon,  of  heaven  the  lovely  queen, 
On  Cumnor  Hall  shone  silver  bright, 

And  glanced  the  oaks'  broad  boughs  between. 

I  appeal  to  the  reader's  experience  whether  this  is  not  a  transla- 
tion which  in  another  language  would  pass  for  excellent;  and 
nevertheless  it  is  no  more  like  the  original  than  a  wax  rose  is  like 
a  garden  rose. 

"To  conclude  these  illustrations,  I  will  give  one  which  may 
serve  to  bring  into  relief  the  havoc  made  by  translators  who  adopt 
a  different  metre  from  that  of  the  original.  Wordsworth  begins 
his  famous  Ode  : 

There  was  a  time  when  meadow,  grove,  and  stream, 
The  earth,  and  every  common  sight, 

To  me  did  seem 

Apparelled  in  celestial  light, 
The  glory  and  the  freshness  of  a  dream. 
It  is  not  now  as  it  hath  been  of  yore; 

Turn  wheresoe'er  I  may, 

By  night  or  day, 
The  things  which  I  have  seen  I  now  can  see  no  more. 

The  translator,  fully  possessed  with  the  sense  of  the  passage,  makes 
no  mistakes,  but  adopting  another  metre,  we  will  suppose,  para- 
phrases thus : 


324  REPRODUCTION  OF   THOUGHT. 

A  time  there  was  when  wood,  and  stream,  and  field, 

The  earth,  and  every  common  sight,  did  yield 

To  me  a  pure  and  heavenly  delight, 

Such  as  is  seen  in  dream  and  vision  bright. 

That  time  is  past;   no  longer  can  I  see 

The  things  which  charmed  my  youthful  reverie. 

"  These  are  specimens  of  translating  from  English  into  English, 
and  show  what  effects  are  produced  by  a  change  of  music  and  a 
change  of  suggestion.  It  is  clear  that  in  a  foreign  language  the 
music  must  incessantly  be  changed,  and  as  no  complex  words  are 
precisely  equivalent  in  two  languages,  the  suggestions  must  also 
be  different.  Idioms  are  of  course  untranslatable.  Felicities  of 
expression  are  the  idioms  of  the  poet ;  but  as  on  the  one  hand 
these  felicities  are  essential  to  the  poem,  and  on  the  other  hand 
untranslatable,  the  vanity  of  translation  becomes  apparent.  I  do 
not  say  that  a  translator  cannot  produce  a  fine  poem  in  imitation 
of  an  original  poem  ;  but  I  utterly  disbelieve  in  the  possibility  of 
his  giving  us  a  work  which  can  be  to  us  what  the  original  is  to 
those  who  read  it." 

The  above  remarks  will  serve  to  exhibit  the  subtle  relations  and 
delicacies  of  literature,  and  what  they  depend  on  ;  and  the  effect 
will  be  enhanced  if  the  student  is  induced  thereby  to  seek  those 
relations  for  himself.  The  effort  to  make  the  best  translation  pos- 
sible, stern  as  are  the  limitations  of  such  work,  is  an  invaluable 
means  of  acquiring  power  over  the  fine  resources  of  his  native 
tongue. 

NOTE.  —  For  other  suggestive  remarks  on  translation,  see  Newman,  "  Idea 
of  a  University,"  pages  285-290.  The  classic  treatise  on  translating  poetry, 
alike  valuable  in  matter  and  attractive  in  style,  is  Matthew  Arnold's  course  of 
lectures  delivered  before  the  University  of  Oxford,  "  On  Translating  Homer." 


Having  in  the  foregoing  three  chapters  traced  the  laws  and 
processes  that  belong  to  invention  in  general,  we  are  now  to 
discuss,  in  the  rest  of  Part  II.,  the  particular  forms  that  inven- 


REPRODUCTION  OF  THOUGHT.  325 

tion  adopts,  as  it  has  to  deal  with  material  of  various  kinds,  and 
the  extension  and  combination  of  these  forms  in  the  leading  types 
of  literature.  This  discussion  will  be  comprised  under  the  follow- 
ing heads : — 

Chapter      IV.     Invention  dealing  with  Objects  ;  —  Description. 
Chapter        V.     Invention  dealing  with  Events  ;  —  Narration. 
Chapter      VI.     Invention  dealing  with  Generalizations  ; — Expo- 
sition. 

Chapter  VII.  Invention  dealing  with  Truths  ; — Argumentation. 
Chapter  VIII.  Invention  dealing  with  Issues  ;  —  Persuasion. 


326  DESCRIPTION, 


CHAPTER   IV. 

INVENTION    DEALING    WITH    OBSERVED    OBJECTS: 
DESCRIPTION. 

As  revealed  in  the  early  literatures  of  all  nations,  the  most  prim- 
itive and  natural  impulse  to  literary  utterance  manifests  itself  in 
men's  efforts  to  report  what  they  observe  in  the  world  around 
them,  either  as  simply  perceived  or  as  vivified  and  embellished 
by  imagination.  This  impulse  is  equally  spontaneous  whether  the 
objects  observed  be  at  rest  or  in  action,  whether  things  or  events ; 
and  thus  this  simplest  inventive  effort  results  in  two  forms  of  dis- 
course, description  and  narration ;  forms  generally  found  in  some 
proportion  together,  but  distinct  in  principle,  and  therefore  need- 
ing for  purposes  of  study  to  be  examined  separately.  The  first  of 
these  will  be  discussed  in  the  present  chapter. 

I.     DESCRIPTION   IN   ITS   PRINCIPLES. 

In  common  with  the  procedure  adopted  for  the  other  specific 
forms  of  invention,  we  are  first  to  consider  description  in  its  prin- 
ciples, as  it  exists  unmixed,  and  afterward  to  notice  the  greater 
literary  types  in  which  description  constitutes  the  predominating 
element. 

I. 

Definition  of  Description.  —  Description  is  the  portrayal  of 
concrete  objects,  material  or  spiritual,  by  means  of  language. 

i.  Observe  in  this  definition,  first,  that  description  is  portrayal. 
It  is  much  more,  therefore,  than  the  mere  enumeration  of  the 
parts  and  qualities  of  an  object.  Such  enumeration  has  indeed 
its  frequent  occasion :  the  bare  demand  for  information  requires 


DESCRIPTION.  327 

often  only  a  catalogue  of  details ;  but  this  is  only  the  unsifted 
material  for  description,  not  the  description  itself.  Description  is 
such  a  treatment  of  an  object,  as  a  whole  and  in  its  parts,  as  pro- 
duces a  unified  and  consistent  picture  of  it,  aiding  the  reader  to 
reproduce  it  in  imagination  with  something  of  the  vividness  with 
which  the  writer  originally  perceived  it.  In  this  respect  descrip- 
tion is  analogous  to  painting ;  it  seeks  to  accomplish  by  language 
what  painting  seeks  to  accomplish  by  pencil  and  pigments.  Like 
painting,  therefore,  it  must  arrange  the  details  of  its  picture  into 
a  composition;  there  must  be  a  balance  and  relation  of  parts, 
a  background  and  foreground,  a  predominating  unity  that  gives 
meaning  and  character  to  all  its  diverse  elements. 

2.  Observe,  secondly,  that  the  objects  with  which  description 
deals  are  concrete ;  that  is,  not  generalized  classes  of  objects,  but 
particular  individuals  of  a  class.     In  this  respect  description  is 
the  contrast  to  exposition.     The  aim  of  the  latter  is  to  generalize 
and  classify;  to  give  therefore,  by  definition,  example,  and  the 
like,  only  such  qualities  as  belong  to  a  whole  group  of  objects. 
The  aim  of  description,  on  the  other  hand,  is  to  give  the  qualities 
wherein  one  object  is  individualized,  unlike  other  objects  ;  and  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  class  except  in  so  far  as  referring  it  to  a 
class  may  serve  to  localize  it. 

3.  Observe,  thirdly,  that  the  range  of  description  includes  not 
only  the  kinds  of  objects  best  adapted  to  portrayal,  namely,  mate- 
rial objects,  such  as  are  seen  and  heard  and  handled,  but  also 
spiritual  objects,  that  is,  mental  states  and  qualities,  character,  and 
such   like.     This  range   necessitates  different   procedures  in  the 
structure  of  description,  according  as  the  plan  is  suggested  by  the 
natural  arrangement  of  parts,  or  has  to  be  shaped  by  the  writer's 
logical  sense.     It  makes  an  essential  difference  whether  he  has  to 
find  his  plan  or  make  it. 

These  main  characteristics  of  description  suggest  to  what  points 
attention  must  be  especially  directed  :  namely,  to  the  structure  of 
description  in  general,  to  special  means  of  making  it  concrete  and 
vivid,  and  to  the  exactions  imposed  upon  it  by  the  object. 


328  DESCRIPTION. 

II. 

Mechanism  of  Description.  —  The  aim  of  description,  namely, 
to  produce  in  the  reader's  imagination  the  same  vivid  conception 
of  the  object  described  that  the  writer  himself  has  ;  and  the  mate- 
rial with  which  description  has  to  work,  namely,  individual  details 
associated  in  space  or  in  thought ;  give  rise  to  two  main  problems 
of  structure,  the  problem  of  selection,  and  the  problem  of  group- 
ing. 

1.  The  problem  of  selection,  —  how  to  estimate  and  choose 
particulars.     A  difficult  problem  :  for  on  the  one  hand,  the  num- 
ber of  individual  details  belonging  to  an  object  of  any  complexity 
is  very  great ;  and  on  the  other,  to  enumerate  more  than  a  very 
limited  number  crowds  and  confuses,  not  vivifies,  the  portrayal. 
To  clear  description  it  is  imperative,  therefore,  that  the  details 
selected  be  only  such  as  are  the  most  characteristic,  and  that  they 
be  in  the  smallest  number  consistent  with  adequate  presentation. 
And  of  course  in   proportion   to  the  smallness  of  the  number 
should  be  their  vividness  in  arousing  the  reader's  imagination  to 
reproduce  the  described  object  for  himself. 

2.  The  problem  of  grouping,  —  how  to  make  unity  of  effect  out 
of  diversity  of  material.     The  nature  of  this  problem  is  thus  ex- 
plained by  Lessing  : 1  "  The  details,  which  the  eye  takes  in  at  a 
glance,  he  (the  describer)  enumerates  slowly  one  by  one,  and  it 
often  happens  that,  by  the  time  he  has  brought  us  to  the  last,  we 
have  forgotten  the  first.     Yet  from  these  details  we  are  to  form  a 
picture.     When  we  look  at  an  object  the  various  parts  are  always 
present  to  the  eye.     It  can  run  over  them  again  and  again.     The 
ear,  however,  loses  the  details  it  has  heard,  unless  memory  retain 
them.     And  if  they  be  so  retained,  what  pains  and  effort  it  costs 
to  recall  their  impressions  in  the  proper  order  and  with  even  the 
moderate  degree  of  rapidity  necessary  to  the  obtaining  of  a  tolera- 
ble idea  of  the  whole."     It  is  necessary,  therefore,  to  have  the 
description   modelled  on  strongly  marked   and  definite  lines  of 

l  Lessing,  "  Laocoon"  (Ellen  Frothingham's  translation),  p.  102. 


DESCRIPTION.  329 

structure,  in  order  that  the  reader  may  refer  the  details  as  he  goes 
along  to  the  underlying  type  or  framework  which  supports  them. 

These  two  problems  necessitate  careful  attention  to  the  following 
elements  of  structure. 

1.  The  Point  of  View.  — As  the  first  step  the  writer  needs  to 
define  in  his  mind  and  to  indicate  in  his  work  the  point  of  view 
from  which  the  object  is  to  be  contemplated.  This  determines 
the  scale  of  the  description.  It  makes  a  great  difference  whether 
the  point  from  which  one  is  looking  is  near  or  remote,  above  or 
below,  situated  in  a  direct  line  or  obliquely ;  the  details  introduced, 
as  to  character,  number,  and  minuteness,  depend  principally  on 
this.  A  river  fifteen  rods  away  would  not  have  been  described  as 
"  like  a  silver  thread  running  through  the  landscape,"  if  the  writer 
had  been  mindful  of  his  point  of  view.  The  analogy  of  descrip- 
tion to  painting  comes  to  mind  here  again  :  it  is  the  working  from 
a  definite  and  constant  point  of  view  that  balances  the  picture, 
regulates  its  leading  features,  its  light  and  shade,  its  masses  of 
color,  its  perspective. 

Objects  of  thought  too,  as  well  as  objects  of  sight,  must  have 
what  corresponds  to  the  point  of  view.  A  character,  for  instance, 
has  a  summarizing  trait,  a  central  unity,  for  the  describer ;  a  men- 
tal state  has  its  occasion  and  impulsion ;  and  these  are  the  points 
from  which  the  writer  forms  his  portrayal. 

Not  that  the  point  of  view  must  in  all  cases  be  explicitly  laid 
down.  Very  often  the  reader  can  instinctively  feel  his  position 
relatively  to  the  object,  and  sometimes  the  character  of  the  details 
serves  to  adjust  it  without  further  indication ;  but  if  this  is  the 
case,  it  is  all  the  more  indicative  of  the  care  with  which  the  point 
is  chosen  by  the  writer,  and  the  consistency  with  which  he  refers 
every  part  to  it.  It  is  the  having  a  point  of  view,  and  having  one 
point  of  view,  that  makes  the  picture  a  unity  and  a  composition. 

ILLUSTRATIONS.  —  The  description  of  the  continent  of  Europe  by  Ruskin,  par- 
tially quoted  on  page  73  above,  is  a  good  example  of  a  carefully  indicated  point 
of  view.  He  wishes  to  give  an  idea  of  "  that  variegated  mosaic  of  the  world's 
surface,  that  difference  between  the  district  of  the  gentian  and  of  the  olive 


330  DESCRIPTION. 

which  the  stork  and  the  swallow  see  far  off,  as  they  lean  upon  the  sirocco 
wind."  For  this  purpose,  he  thus  defines  his  position :  "  Let  us,  for  a  moment, 
try  to  raise  ourselves  even  above  the  level  of  their  flight,  and  imagine  the 
Mediterranean  lying  beneath  us  like  an  irregular  lake,"  etc.  Occupying  this 
point  of  view  his  vision  traverses  in  imagination  the  European  continent  from 
south  to  north,  noticing  merely  such  general  features  —  of  land,  water,  moun- 
tains, vegetation  —  as  can  be  discerned  from  such  a  distance.  Then  he  begins 
at  the  starting-point  and  describes  the  same  region  again  from  a  nearer  point 
of  view,  which  he  thus  indicates :  "And,  having  once  traversed  in  thought  this 
gradation  of  the  zoned  iris  of  the  earth  in  all  its  material  vastness,  let  us  go 
down  nearer  to  it,  and  watch  the  parallel  change  in  the  belt  of  animal  life," 
etc.  This  enables  him  to  describe  the  animals,  men,  and  works  of  men,  of 
the  same  region,  in  connection  with  the  more  comprehensive  features  already 
recounted. 

In  a  description  of  Chartres  Cathedral,  Mr.  Henry  James  thus  indicates  a 
somewhat  disadvantageous  point  of  view :  — 

"  The  little  square  that  surrounds  it  is  deplorably  narrow,  and  you  flatten 
your  back  against  the  opposite  houses  in  the  vain  attempt  to  stand  off  and 
survey  the  towers.  The  proper  way  to  look  at  them  would  be  to  go  up  in  a 
balloon  and  hang  poised,  face  to  face  with  them,  in  the  blue  air.  There  is, 
however,  perhaps  an  advantage  in  being  forced  to  stand  so  directly  under 
them,  for  this  position  gives  you  an  overwhelming  impression  of  their  height. 
I  have  seen,  I  suppose,  churches  as  beautiful  as  this  one,  but  I  do  not  remember 
ever  to  have  been  so  fascinated  by  superpositions  and  vertical  effects.  The 
endless  upward  reach  of  the  great  west  front,"  etc.  The  whole  description 
thus  harmonizes,  in  scale  and  detail,  with  this  point  of  view. 

The  adoption,  in  certain  cases,  of  a  shifting  or  "  traveller's  point  of  view  " 
will  be  explained  further  on. 

2.  The  Comprehensive  Outline.  —  Having  determined  his  point 
of  view,  and  with  it  the  scale  of  description,  the  writer's  next  step 
is  to  give  in  a  brief  outline  the  most  characterizing  feature  or 
features  of  the  object  described,  as  a  kind  of  framework  for  the 
whole  picture.  This  he  does  at  the  outset  in  order  to  have  a 
unifying  nucleus  of  description  round  which  the  various  details 
may  be  grouped. 

The  kind  of  features  that  constitute  such  outline  are,  in  a  material 
object,  the  name  of  its  class,  its  shape,  size,  and  position,  or  some 
indication  of  what  it  is  like  ;  and  in  spiritual  objects,  predominating 
motive,  summary  of  qualities,  characterizing  trait.  An  outline  like 


DESCRIPTION.  331 

this  is,  for  writer  and  reader  alike,  the  central  point  of  reference, 
the  working-idea;  being  in  a  sense,  therefore,  analogous  to  the 
theme  in  more  comprehensive  literary  works.  Compare  preced- 
ing, page  257. 

EXAMPLES.  —  i.  Victor  Hugo's  description  of  the  Battle  of  Waterloo  begins 
with  the  following  elaborate  outline  description  of  the  battle-field :  — 

"Those  who  would  get  a  clear  idea  of  the  battle  of  Waterloo  have  only  to 
lay  down  upon  the  ground  in  their  mind  a  capital  A.  The  left  stroke  of  the  A 
is  the  road  from  Nivelles,  the  right  stroke  is  the  road  from  Genappe,  the  cross 
of  the  A  is  the  sunken  road  from  Ohain  to  Braine  PAlleud.  The  top  of  the  A 
is  Mont  Saint  Jean,  Wellington  is  there;  the  left  hand  lower  point  is  Hougo- 
mont,  Reille  is  there  with  Jerome  Bonaparte;  the  right  hand  lower  point  is 
La  Belle  Alliance,  Napoleon  is  there.  A  little  below  the  point  where  the  cross 
of  the  A  meets  and  cuts  the  right  stroke,  is  La  Ilaie  Sainte.  At  the  middle 
of  this  cross  is  the  precise  point  where  the  final  battle  word  was  spoken. 
There  the  lion  is  placed,  the  involuntary  symbol  of  the  supreme  heroism  of  the 
Imperial  Guard.  The  triangle  contained  at  the  top  of  the  A,  between  the  two 
strokes  and  the  cross,  is  the  plateau  of  Mont  Saint  Jean.  The  struggle  for  this 
plateau  was  the  whole  of  the  battle." 

2.  The  following  is  the  antithetic  framework  on  which  J.  R.  Green,  in  his 
"  History  of  the  English  People,"  constructs  a  description,  seven  pages  long, 
of  the  character  of  Queen  Elizabeth :  — 

"  The  issue  of  the  Scotch  war  revealed  suddenly  to  Europe  the  vigor  of  the 
Queen  and  the  strength  of  her  throne.  What  her  ability  really  was,  no  one, 
save  Cecil,  had  as  yet  suspected.  There  was  little  indeed  in  her  outward  de- 
meanor to  give  any  indication  of  her  greatness.  To  the  world  about  her  the 
temper  of  Elizabeth  recalled  in  its  strange  contrasts  the  mixed  blood  within 
her  veins.  She  was  at  once  the  daughter  of  Henry  and  of  Anne  Boleyn.  From 
her  father  she  inherited  her  frank  and  hearty  address,  her  love  of  popularity 
and  of  free  intercourse  with  the  people,  her  dauntless  courage  and  her  amaz- 
ing self-confidence.  Her  harsh,  manlike  voice,  her  impetuous  will,  her  pride, 
her  furious  outbursts  of  anger,  came  to  her  with  her  Tudor  blood.  .  .  .  Strangely 
in  contrast  with  these  violent  outlines  of  her  father's  temper  stood  the  sensuous, 
self-indulgent  nature  she  drew  from  Anne  Boleyn.  Splendor  and  pleasure  were 
with  Elizabeth  the  very  air  she  breathed." 

In  cases  where  the  description  is  not  the  main  element  of  the 
production  but  ancillary  to  something  else,  it  generally  consists 
merely  of  the  comprehensive  outline;  to  which  is  sometimes 


332  DESCRIPTION. 

added  a  more  detailed  account  of  the  part  or  quality  that  is  of 
special  significance  for  the  principal  work. 

EXAMPLES. —  i.  Carlyle  thus  portrays  in  outline  the  environs  of  Zorndorf, 
which  are  of  importance  merely  as  the  scene  of  a  battle :  — 

"Such  is  the  poor  moorland  tract  of  country;  Zorndorf  the  centre  of  it, — 
where  the  battle  is  likely  to  be :  Zorndorf  and  environs,  a  bare  quasi-island 
among  these  woods;  extensive  bald  crown  of  the  landscape,  girt  with  a  frizzle 
of  fir-woods  all  round." 

2.  The   following   is   an   outline   description   of    a   person,    from   George 
Eliot :  — 

"  She  had  time  to  remark  that  he  was  a  peculiar-looking  person,  but  not 
insignificant,  which  was  the  quality  that  most  hopelessly  consigned  a  man  to 
perdition.  He  was  massively  built.  The  striking  points  in  his  face  were  large 
clear  gray  eyes  and  full  lips." 

3.  The  Sequence  of  Details.  — Having  outlined  his  description, 
the  writer  has  finally  to  begin  at  some  easily-imagined  starting- 
point  and  supply  the  characteristic  features,  in  regular  and  associ- 
able  order,  from  point  to  point.     To  arrange  these  details  lucidly, 
he  needs  to  inquire  at  every  point  in  what  order  one  would  most 
naturally  think  of  them.     In  material  objects,  such  as  landscapes, 
buildings,  and  persons,  there  is  a  natural  suggestiveness  on  which 
he  can  generally  best  rely ;  he  has  but  to  follow  the  law  of  con- 
tiguity.1     In  spiritual  objects  he  must  make  a  plan  of  his  own, 
arranging   according  to  some  marked  law  of  sequence,  such  as 
similarity  or  contrast  of  qualities,  or  cause  and  effect.     And  what- 
ever the  principle  of  arrangement,  it  is  to  be  remembered  that, 
on  account  of  the  natural  looseness  of  the  details,  a  descriptive 
plan  has  to  be  strongly  marked  in  order  to  be  easily  followed. 

EXAMPLES.  —  I.  The  description  of  Chartres  Cathedral,  by  Henry  James, 
whose  point  of  view  is  given  on  page  330,  proceeds  in  easily  traced  order,  from 
bottom  to  top  of  the  facade,  then  the  towers,  then  other  features. 

"  The  doors  are  rather  low,  as  those  of  the  English  cathedrals  are  apt  to  be, 
but  (standing  three  together)  are  set  in  a  deep  framework  of  sculpture —  rows 
of  arching  grooves,  filled  with  admirable  little  images,  standing  with  their  heels 
on  each  other's  heads.  The  church,  as  it  now  exists,  except  the  northern  tower, 

1  For  the  explanation  of  these  laws  of  association,  see  preceding,  page  273  sq. 


DESCRIPTION.  333 

dates  from  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  century,  and  these  closely-packed  fig- 
ures are  full  of  the  grotesqueness  of  the  period.  Above  the  triple  portals  is  a 
vast  round-topped  window,  in  three  divisions,  of  the  grandest  dimensions  and 
the  stateliest  effect.  Above  this  window  is  a  circular  aperture,  of  huge  circum- 
ference, with  a  double  row  of  sculptured  spokes  radiating  from  its  centre  and 
looking  on  its  lofty  field  of  stone  as  expansive  and  symbolic  as  if  it  were  the 
wheel  of  Time  itself.  Higher  still  is  a  little  gallery  with  a  delicate  balustrade, 
supported  on  a  beautiful  cornice  and  stretching  across  the  front  from  tower  to 
tower;  and  above  this  is  a  range  of  niched  statues  of  kings  —  fifteen,  I  believe, 
in  number.  Above  the  statues  is  a  gable,  with  an  image  of  the  Virgin  and 
Child  on  its  front,  and  another  of  Christ  on  its  apex.  In  the  relation  of  all 
these  parts  there  is  such  a  high  felicity  that  while  on  the  one  side  the  eye  rests 
on  a  great  many  large  blanks  there  is  no  approach  on  the  other  to  poverty.  .  . 
The  two  great  towers  of  the  cathedral  are  among  the  noblest  of  their  kind. 
They  rise  in  solid  simplicity  to  a  height  as  great  as  the  eye  often  troubles  itself 
to  travel,  and  then  suddenly  they  begin  to  execute  a  magnificent  series  of  feats 
in  architectural  gymnastics.  This  is  especially  true  of  the  northern  spire,  which 
is  a  late  creation,  dating  from  the  sixteenth  century.  The  other  is  relatively 
quiet;  but  its  companion  is  a  sort  of  tapering  bouquet  of  sculptured  stone. 
Statues  and  buttresses,  gargoyles,  arabesques  and  crockets  pile  themselves  in 
successive  stages,  until  the  eye  loses  the  sense  of  everything  but  a  sort  of 
architectural  lacework.  The  pride  of  Chartres,  after  its  front,  is  the  two  por- 
tals of  its  transepts  —  great  dusky  porches,  in  three  divisions,  covered  with 
more  images  than  I  have  time  to  talk  about.  Wherever  you  look,  along  the 
sides  of  the  church,  a  time-worn  image  is  niched  or  perched.  The  face  of 
each  flying  buttress  is  garnished  with  one,  with  the  features  quite  melted 
away." 

2.  The  plan  pursued  in  Green's  description  of  the  character  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, the  outline  of  which  is  given  on  page  331,  is  mainly  a  series  of  antithe- 
ses. It  may  be  tabulated  thus :  — 

1.  Outline  —  contrasted  traits  inherited  from  her  parents. 

a.  From  Henry  VIII. — frankness,  love  of  popularity,  courage,  self- 

confidence. 

b.  From  Anne  Boleyn — gaiety,  sensuousness,  self-indulgence. 

2.  Intellectual  qualities  —  keenness,  sagacity,  versatility. 

3.  Moral  qualities  —  indifference,  absence  of  either  love  or  hate. 

4.  As  to  aims  in  policy  —  directness,  steadiness,  tenacity. 

5.  As  to  means  —  tortuousness,  ingenuity,  unscrupulousness. 

6.  Summary  —  Yet  in  its  very  contrasts  the  character  for  the  age. 


334  DESCRIPTION. 

III. 

Subdual  of  Descriptive  Details. — The  details  belonging  natu- 
rally to  an  object  of  description  are  so  loosely  connected  that  the 
problem  of  management,  or  as  it  is  here  termed  subdual,  becomes 
very  important.  It  is  mostly  a  problem  of  parsimony :  how  to 
effect  the  result  with  the  fewest  particulars  possible,  and  how  to 
make  each  particular  count  for  the  most  possible.  In  this  sub- 
dual of  details  three  main  types  of  description  are  occasioned, 
according  to  the  number  and  grouping  of  parts. 

1.  Circumstantial  Description.  —  There  are  kind's  of  descriptive 
work  that  will  not  bear  any  great  reduction  of  details ;  these  are 
descriptions  where  the  aim  is  not  so  much  vividness  as  informa- 
tion. The  various  parts  of  the  object  must  be  given,  as  well  as 
the  character  of  it  as  a  whole ;  the  work  has  to  be,  in  truth,  a  kind 
of  skillfully  constructed  catalogue,  in  which  as  lucid  order  as  is 
possible  must  be  sought  for  what  is  after  all  rather  intractable  ma- 
terial. 

For  such  circumstantial  description  the  procedure  already  de- 
scribed under  Sequence  of  Details  is  most  applicable ;  namely, 
making  the  most  possible  of  the  natural  suggestiveness  of  the 
object,  to  group  the  parts  in  the  manner  judged  most  practical 
and  serviceable  to  the  reader. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  description  of  Chartres  Cathedral,  already  quoted,  is  of 
the  circumstantial  type;  and  the  following  shorter  description,  from  Parkman, 
shows  the  same  character,  in  the  regular  and  natural  succession  of  parts :  — 

"  The  cliff  called  '  Starved  Rock,'  now  pointed  out  to  travellers  as  the  chief 
natural  curiosity  of  the  region,  rises,  steep  on  three  sides  as  a  castle  wall,  to 
the  height  of  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  above  the  river.  In  front,  it 
overhangs  the  water  that  washes  its  base;  its  western  brow  looks  down  on  the 
tops  of  the  forest  trees  below;  and  on  the  east  lies  a  wide  gorge  or  ravine, 
choked  with  the  mingled  foliage  of  oaks,  walnuts,  and  elms;  while  in  its  rocky 
depths  a  little  brook  creeps  down  to  mingle  with  the  river.  From  the  rugged 
trunk  of  the  stunted  cedar  that  leans  forward  from  the  brink,  you  may  drop  a 
plummet  into  the  river  below,  where  the  cat-fish  and  the  turtles  may  plainly 
be  seen  gliding  over  the  wrinkled  sands  of  the  clear  and  shallow  current. 


DESCRIPTION.  335 

The  cliff  is  accessible  only  from  behind,  where  a  man  may  climb  up,  not  with- 
out difficulty,  by  a  steep  and  narrow  passage.  The  top  is  about  an  acre  in 
extent." 

2.  Dynamic  Description.  — This  name  may  be  adopted  for  that 
kind  of  description  in  which  the  details  are  massed  according  to 
the  power  they  have  or  the  impression  they  are  fitted  to  make. 
Its  method  is  the  arrangement  of  parts  in  accordance  with  their 
similarity  of  effect  in  bringing  out  a  certain  character.  Professor 
David  Pryde  thus  delineates  it : 1  "  In  studying  any  interesting 
scene,  let  your  mind  look  carefully  at  all  the  details.  You  will 
then  become  conscious  of  one  or  more  effects  or  impressions  that 
have  been  made  upon  you.  Discover  what  these  impressions  are. 
Then  group  and  describe  in  order  the  details  which  tend  to  pro- 
duce each  of  the  impressions.  You  will  then  find  that  you  have 
comprised  in  your  description  all  the  important  details  of  the 
scene." 

NOTE.  —  Professor  Pryde  thus  illustrates  his  idea :  "  As  an  instance,  let  us 
suppose  that  a  writer  is  out  in  the  country  on  a  morning  toward  the  end  of 
May,  and  wishes  to  describe  the  multitudinous  objects  which  delight  his  senses. 
First  of  all,  he  ascertains  that  the  general  impressions  produced  on  his  mind 
by  the  summer  landscape  are  the  ideas  of  luxuriance,  brightness,  and  joy. 
He  then  proceeds  to  describe  in  these  groups  the  details  which  produce  these 
impressions.  He  first  takes  up  the  luxuriant  features :  the  springing  young 
crops  of  grain  completely  hiding  the  red  soil  ;  the  rich,  living  carpet  of  grass 
and  flowers  covering  the  meadow  ;  the  hedge-rows  on  each  side  of  the  way,  in 
their  bright  summer  green;  the  trees  bending  gracefully  under  the  full  weight 
of  their  foliage  ;  and  the  wild  plants,  those  waifs  of  nature,  flourishing  every- 
where, smothering  the  woodland  brook,  filling  up  each  scar  and  crevice  in  the 
rock,  and  making  a  rich  fringe  along  the  side  of  every  highway  and  footpath. 
He  then  descants  upon  the  brightness  of  the  landscape  :  the  golden  sunshine  ; 
the  pearly  dew-drops  hanging  on  the  tips  of  every  blade  of  grass,  and  sparkling 
in  the  morning  rays ;  the  clusters  of  daisies  dappling  the  pasture-land  ;  the 
dandelion  glowing  under  the  very  foot  of  the  traveller ;  the  chestnut  trees, 
like  great  candelabra,  stuck  all  over  with  white  lights,  lighting  up  the  wood- 
lands ;  and  lilacs,  laburnums,  and  hawthorns  in  full  flower,  making  the  farm- 
er's garden  one  mass  of  variegated  blossom.  And  last  of  all,  he  can  dwell 

1  Pryde,  "  Highways  of  Literature,"  Chap.  VIII. 


336  DESCRIPTION. 

upon  the  joy  that  is  abroad  on  the  face  of  the  earth  :  the  little  birds  so  full  of 
one  feeling  that  they  can  only  thrill  it  forth  in  the  same  delicious  monotone  ; 
the  lark  bounding  into  the  air,  as  if  eager  and  quivering  to  proclaim  his  joy  to 
the  whole  world  ;  the  humble-bee  humming  his  satisfaction  as  he  revels  among 
the  flowers ;  and  the  myriads  of  insects  floating  in  the  air,  and  poising,  and 
darting  with  drowsy  buzz  through  the  floods  of  golden  sunshine.  Thus  we 
see  that,  by  this  habit  of  generalizing,  the  mind  can  grasp  the  details  of  almost 
any  scene." 

It  is  obvious  that  this  is  a  very  effective  way  of  subduing  the 
numerous  details  of  a  description.  Nor  has  the  principle  of  it  been 
overlooked  by  writers.  It  is  perhaps  the  prevailing  method  in 
the  more  finished  literary  portrayals,  where  vividness  rather  than 
information  is  the  aim.  A  strong  and  definite  impression  is  the 
object  for  which  there  is  most  occasion,  not  a  multitude  of  partic- 
ulars. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  following,  from  Dickens,  is  constructed  so  as  to  bring 
out  two  impressions.  The  old  house  here  described  is,  first,  of  a  peculiar  bulg- 
ing appearance,  and  secondly,  spotlessly  clean.  Round  these  two  characteris- 
tics the  details  are  grouped. 

"  At  length  we  stopped  before  a  very  old  house  bulging  out  over  the  road  ; 
a  house  with  long  low  lattice-windows  bulging  out  still  farther,  and  beams 
with  carved  heads  on  the  ends  bulging  out  too,  so  that  I  fancied  the  whole 
house  was  leaning  forward,  trying  to  see  what  was  passing  on  the  narrow 
pavement  below.  It  was  quite  spotless  in  its  cleanliness.  The  old-fashioned 
brass  knocker  on  the  low  arched  door,  ornamented  with  carved  garlands  of 
fruit  and  flowers,  twinkled  like  a  star  ;  the  two  stone  steps  descending  to  the 
door  were  as  white  as  if  they  had  been  covered  with  fair  linen  ;  and  all  the 
angles  and  corners,  and  carvings  and  mouldings,  and  quaint  little  panes  of 
glass,  and  quainter  little  windows,  though  as  old  as  the  hills,  were  as  pure  as 
any  snow  that  ever  fell  upon  the  hills." 

Shakespeare's  description  of  Dover  Cliff,  in  "  King  Lear,"  gives  merely  such 
details  and  accessories  as  serve  to  impress  its  dizzy  height :  — 

" Come  on,  sir;  here's  the  place :  stand  still.    How  fearful 
And  dizzy  'tis  to  cast  one's  eyes  so  low ! 
The  crows  and  choughs  that  wing  the  midway  air 
Show  scarce  so  gross  as  beetles :  halfway  down 
Hangs  one  that  gathers  samphire,  dreadful  trade ! 
Methinks  he  seems  no  bigger  than  his  head : 
The  fishermen,  that  walk  upon  the  beach, 


DESCRIPTION.  337 

Appear  like  mice ;  and  yond  tall  anchoring  bark, 
Diminish'd  to  her  cock;  her  cock,  a  buoy 
Almost  too  small  for  sight :  the  murmuring  surge, 
That  on  th'  unnumber'd  idle  pebbles  chafes, 
Cannot  be  heard  so  high.     I'll  look  no  more; 
Lest  my  brain  turn,  and  the  deficient  sight 
Topple  down  headlong." 

Other  examples  are  Shelley's  description  of  the  ravine  near  Petrella,  in  "  The 
Cenci,"  Act  III.  Scene  I.,  which  impresses  the  terrific  gloom  of  the  scene  ;  and 
Ruskin's  description  of  the  interior  of  St.  Mark's,  Venice  (already  mentioned 
on  page  257),  which  centres  in  the  characteristics  of  color  and  symbolic  deco- 
ration. Thus  we  see  there  is  room  even  to  give  bewildering  masses  of  detail 
in  description,  if  bewilderment  is  the  impression  to  be  conveyed.  May  not 
this  effect  be  in  part  sought  in  Ruskin's  description  of  the  exterior  of  St. 
Mark's? 

3.  Portrayal  without  Detail.  —  Of  any  common  object  the 
great  mass  of  characteristics  are  already  so  familiar  that  the 
thought  of  the  object  necessarily  recalls  them.  All  that  is  needed, 
in  the  majority  of  cases,  is  merely  to  rouse  in  the  reader's  mind 
a  vivid  conception  or  recollection  of  what  he  has  already  seen  ; 
and  this  can  often  be  done  by  a  flash  of  picturesque  expression, 
or  by  a  telling  epithet,  much  better  than  by  recounting  details. 
A  single  word  opens  the  whole  vision ;  and  the  reader  is  delighted 
by  its  picturing  power. 

Strictly  speaking  this  is  not  description ;  it  is  suggestion.  But 
the  scene  described  must  be  in  the  writer's  mind  and  heart,  so 
living  and  inspiring  that  he  can  see  it  in  solution  in  one  word ; 
and  to  find  this  word  is  perhaps  the  rarest  power  in  literature.  It 
comes  only  from  an  intense  realization  of  the  object  in  emotion 
and  imagination ;  its  inspirer  is,  in  truth,  the  spirit  of  poetry. 

NOTE.  —  Of  Coleridge's  "  Ancient  Mariner,"  Lowell  says :  "  And  how  pic- 
turesque it  is  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  word.  I  know  nothing  like  it.  There 
is  not  a  description  in  it.  It  is  all  picture.  Descriptive  poets  generally  con- 
fuse us  with  multiplicity  of  detail ;  we  cannot  see  their  forest  for  the  trees ; 
but  Coleridge  never  errs  in  this  way.  With  instinctive  tact  he  touches  th§ 
right  chord  of  association,  and  is  satisfied,  as  we  also  are," 


338  DESCRIPTION. 

Let  us  verify  these  remarks  by  two  or  three  citations.    In  the  stanza  — 

"  All  in  a  hot  and  copper  sky, 
The  bloody  Sun,  at  noon, 
Right  up  above  the  mast  did  stand, 
No  bigger  than  the  Moon,"  — 

what  could  be  more  expressive  than  the  epithet  copper ;  and  how  the  whole 
pictures  the  tropic  calm.  And  could  a  more  intensely  real  picture  be  made 
than  is  painted  in  the  following  stanza?  — 

"  It  ceased ;  yet  still  the  sails  made  on 
A  pleasant  noise  till  noon,  — 
A  noise  like  of  a  hidden  brook 
In  the  leafy  month  of  June, 
That  to  the  sleeping  woods  all  night 
Singeth  a  quiet  tune." 

Carlyle  had  this  picturing  power,  in  his  portraits  of  men ;  witness,  for 
instance,  his  study  of  Dante's  portrait,  in  "  Hero- Worship  " :  — 

"  Lonely  there,  painted  as  on  vacancy,  with  the  simple  laurel  wound  round 
it ;  the  deathless  sorrow  and  pain,  the  known  victory  which  is  also  deathless  ; 
—  significant  of  the  whole  history  of  Dante !  I  think  it  is  the  mournfulest 
face  that  ever  was  painted  from  reality;  an  altogether  tragic,  heart-affecting 
face,"  etc. 

Observe  how  in  the  following,  from  George  Eliot,  a  single  touch  brings  the 
whole  scene  before  us :  "  The  rush  of  the  water,  and  the  booming  of  the  mill, 
bring  a  dreamy  deafness,  which  seems  to  heighten  the  peacefulness  of  the 
scene.  They  are  like  a  great  curtain  of  sound,  shutting  one  out  from  the 
world  beyond." 

IV. 

Accessories  of  Description.  —  In  spite  of  all  care  in  planning 
and  grouping,  description  remains  the  kind  of  discourse  most 
liable  to  be  tedious,  on  account  of  the  difficulty  of  managing 
a  multitude  of  loosely  connected  details.  Some  ways  of  sub- 
duing this  intractable  material  we  have  just  noticed.  The  same 
need  of  subdual  gives  importance  to  the  accessories  of  descrip- 
tion ;  which,  though  auxiliary,  belong  to  the  essential  working-tools 
of  the  art. 

Description,  being  in  principle  picturing,  is  an  appeal  to  the 
reader's  imagination.  It  seeks  to  produce  in  him  a  kind  of  illu- 
sion, to  make  him  realize  the  picture  as  if  he  saw  it.  We  find 


DESCRIPTION.  339 

accordingly  that  it  freely  employs  imaginative  diction  (see  pre- 
ceding, pages  55,  73),  in  the  form  of  heightened  expression, 
picturesqueness,  and  imagery;  only  here  these  heightening  ele- 
ments are  not  so  much  for  elegance  as  for  clearness.  The  ne- 
cessity of  rousing  a  definite  image  often  gives  to  a  plain  prose 
description  some  of  the  characteristics  of  poetry. 

The  following  are  the  commonest  accessories  of  description. 

Figurative  Language. — The  advantage  of  figures  for  making 
an  object  real  and  definite  is  obvious;  they  both  illustrate  and 
vivify.  Figures  that  are  eminent  in  these  qualities  are  the  most 
frequent  and  useful. 

1.  Simile  is   extensively  employed,  principally  in  the   outline 
part  of  extended  description,  to  give  definiteness  for  the  succeed- 
ing treatment ;  also  in  brief  picturesque  portrayal. 

EXAMPLES. —  i.  The  following  similes,  in  Carlyle's  description  of  Schlesien, 
illustrate  his  care  in  constructing  a  definite  outline :  — 

"  Schlesien,  what  we  call  Silesia,  lies  in  elliptic  shape,  spread  on  the  top  of 
Europe,  partly  girt  with  mountains,  like  the  crown  or  crest  to  that  part  of  the 
Earth  —  highest  table-land  of  Germany  or  of  the  Cisalpine  Countries,  and  send- 
ing rivers  into  all  the  seas.  ...  It  leans  sloping,  as  we  hinted,  to  the  East  and 
to  the  North  ;  a  long  curved  buttress  of  mountains  (fRiesengebirge,  Giant- 
Mountains,  is  their  best-known  name  in  foreign  countries)  holding  it  up  on 
the  South  and  West  sides.  This  Giant-Mountain  Range  .  .  .  shapes  itself  like  a 
bill-hook  (or  elliptically,  as  was  said)  :  handle  and  hook  together  may  be  some 
200  miles  in  length.  ...  A  very  pretty  Ellipsis,  or  irregular  Oval,  on  the  sum- 
mit of  the  European  Continent,  'like  the  palm  of  a  left-hand  well  stretched-out, 
with  the  Riesengebirge  for  thumb  ! '  said  a  certain  Herr  to  me,  stretching  out 
his  arm  in  that  fashion  toward  the  northwest  —  Palm  well  stretched-out,  measur- 
ing 250  miles,  and  the  crossway  100." 

2.  The  following,  from  Balzac,  will  show  how  simile  is  used  to  hit  off  a  char- 
acter or  quality  picturesquely :  — 

"  The  president,  who  looked  like  a  rusty  iron  nail,  felt  that  his  courtship 
was  progressing."  —  " '  Just  so,'  said  the  notary,  pulling  out  his  old  watch, 
which  was  two  inches  thick  and  looked  like  a  Dutch  man-of-war? 

2.  Metaphor  and  personification  are  very  striking  means  of 
giving  vigor  and  action  to  a  scene  or  object.  Sometimes  they 
are  followed  out  at  length,  in  an  elaborated  picture. 


340  DESCRIPTION. 


EXAMPLES.  —  The  following  is  from  Charles  Egbert  Craddock  :  — 

"  Stretching  out  laterally  from  a  long  oblique  line  of  the  Southern  Allegha- 
nies  are  two  parallel  ranges,  following  the  same  course  through  several  leagues, 
and  separated  by  a  narrow  strip  of  valley  hardly  half  a  mile  in  width.  As  they 
fare  along  arm  in  arm,  so  to  speak,  sundry  differences  between  the  close  com- 
panions are  distinctly  apparent.  One  is  much  the  higher,  and  leads  the  way; 
it  strikes  out  all  the  bold  curves  and  angles  of  the  course,  meekly  attended  by 
the  lesser  ridge  ;  its  shadowy  coves  and  sharp  ravines  are  repeated  in  minia- 
ture as  its  comrade  falls  into  the  line  of  march ;  it  seems  to  have  its  companion 
in  charge,  and  to  conduct  it  away  from  the  majestic  procession  of  mountains 
that  traverses  the  State." 

The  following,  from  Mrs.  Stowe,  describes  the  preparation,  in  a  country 
home,  for  Thanksgiving  cheer :  — 

"  In  the  corner  of  the  great  kitchen,  during  all  these  days,  the  jolly  old  oven 
roared  and  crackled  in  volcanic  billows  of  flame,  snapping  and  gurgling  as  if 
the  old  fellow  entered  with  joyful  sympathy  into  the  frolic  of  the  hour,  and 
then,  his  great  heart  being  once  warmed  up,  he  brooded  over  successive  gen- 
erations of  pies  and  cakes,  which  went  in  raw  and  came  out  cooked,  till  but- 
teries and  dressers  and  shelves  and  pantries  were  literally  crowded  with  a  jos- 
tling abundance." 

3.  Antithesis,  or  contrast,  is  an  effectual  means  of  bringing  out 
into  relief  what  is  distinctive  or  surprising  in  the  object  described. 
Contrast  in  the  broader  sense  is  here  meant;  as,  for  instance, 
between  appearance  and  reality,  or  between  anticipation  and  ful- 
filment. 

EXAMPLE.  —  Green,  in  his  "  History  of  the  English  People,"  thus  sets  off  the 
character  of  James  I.  by  contrast :  — 

"  In  outer  appearance  no  sovereign  could  have  jarred  more  utterly  against 
the  conception  of  an  English  ruler  which  had  grown  up  under  Plantagenet  or 
Tudor.  His  big  head,  his  slobbering  tongue,  his  quilted  clothes,  his  rickety 
legs,  stood  out  in  as  grotesque  a  contrast  with  all  that  men  recalled  of  Henry 
or  Elizabeth  as  his  gabble  and  rhodomontade,  his  want  of  personal  dignity, 
his  buffoonery,  his  coarseness  of  speech,  his  pedantry,  his  personal  cowardice. 
Under  this  ridiculous  exterior  indeed  lay  no  small  amount  of  moral  courage 
and  of  intellectual  ability.  James  was  a  ripe  scholar,  with  a  considerable  fund 
of  shrewdness,  of  mother-wit,  and  ready  repartee.  His  canny  humor  lights  up 
the  political  and  theological  controversies  of  the  time  with  quaint  incisive 
phrases,  with  puns  and  epigrams  and  touches  of  irony  which  still  retain  their 
savor.  His  reading,  especially  in  theological  matters,  was  extensive  ;  and  he 


DESCRIPTION.  341 

was  already  a  voluminous  author  on  subjects  which  ranged  from  predestination 
to  tobacco.  But  his  shrewdness  and  learning  only  left  him,  in  the  phrase  of 
Henry  the  Fourth  of  France, '  the  wisest  fool  in  Christendom.'  He  had  in 
fact  the  temper  of  a  pedant,  a  pedant's  conceit,  a  pedant's  love  of  theories,  and 
a  pedant's  inability  to  bring  his  theories  into  any  relation  with  actual  facts.  It 
was  this  fatal  defect  that  marred  his  political  abilities."  Etc. 

Epithet  and  Word-Painting.  —  These  characteristics  of  imagi- 
native and  poetic  diction  are  very  spontaneous  in  descriptive  writ- 
ing, being  the  form  that  language  takes  in  its  attempt  to  use  the 
picturing  power  of  words.  They  are  used  both  in  portrayal  with- 
out detail  and  in  more  extended  description. 

i.  Epithet  is  perhaps  the  most  common  and  serviceable  means 
of  condensing  a  picture  into  a  word ;  this  is,  indeed,  the  business 
of  epithet  (see  pages  56-58,  preceding).  If  the  conception  of 
an  object  can  be  flashed  into  the  reader's  imagination  by  a  single 
apt  word,  the  word  is  better  than  a  page  of  inventory  description. 

NOTE. —  Epithet  is  Ruskin's  prevailing  means  of  describing  natural  scen- 
ery, as  is  illustrated  on  page  74.  It  is  also  Carlyle's  principal  method  in  the 
vivid  portrayal  of  personal  characteristics.  Consider,  in  the  following,  how 
powerfully  the  latter  sets  off  Daniel  Webster's  personal  appearance  by  the  epi- 
thets he  freely  employs :  — 

"Not  many  days  ago,"  he  wrote  to  Emerson  in  1839,  "  I  saw  at  breakfast 
the  notablest  of  all  your  Notabilities,  Daniel  Webster.  He  is  a  magnificent 
specimen  ;  you  might  say  to  all  the  world,  This  is  your  Yankee  Englishman, 
such  limbs  we  make  in  Yankeeland  !  As  a  Logic-fencer,  Advocate,  or  Parlia- 
mentary Hercules,  one  would  incline  to  back  him  at  first  sight  against  all  the 
extant  world.  The  tanned  complexion,  that  amorphous  crag-like  face  ;  the  dull 
black  eyes  under  their  precipice  of  brows,  like  dull  anthracite  furnaces,  needing 
only  to  be  blown  ;  the  mastiff-mouth,  accurately  closed :  — I  have  not  traced 
as  much  of  silent  jBerserkir-r&ge,  that  I  remember  of  in  any  other  man.  .  .  . 
Webster  is  not  loquacious,  but  he  is  pertinent,  conclusive  ;  a  dignified,  per- 
fectly bred  man,  though  not  English  in  breeding :  a  man  worthy  of  the  best 
reception  from  us  ;  and  meeting  such,  I  understand." 

In  his  reply  to  this,  Emerson  describes  by  epithet  Carlyle's  word-painting 
power :  "  And  now  those  thirsty  eyes,  those  portrait-eating,  portrait-painting 
eyes  of  thine,  those  fatal  perceptions,  have  fallen  full  on  the  great  forehead 
which  I  followed  about  all  my  young  days,  from  court-house  to  senate-chamber, 
from  caucus  to  street." 


342  DESCRIPTION. 

2.  Word-painting  is  closely  connected  with  epithet.  Indeed, 
the  two  are  generally  found  together ;  but  to  the  picturing  power 
of  single  words  word-painting  adds  flow  and  rhythm  of  the  sen- 
tence, adaptation  of  sound  to  sense,  alliteration,  word-play,  and 
the  like. 

NOTE.  —  This  has  already  been  illustrated  liberally  on  pages  55,  62,  74. 
The  following,  from  Ruskin,  will  show  how  epithet  and  word-painting  together 
add  to  the  picturesqueness  of  description :  — 

"  And  there  the  river  ripples,  and  eddies,  and  murmurs  in  an  utter  solitude. 
It  is  passing  through  the  midst  of  a  thickly  peopled  country  ;  but  never  was  a 
stream  so  lonely.  The  feeblest  and  most  far-away  torrent  among  the  high  hills 
has  its  companions :  the  goats  browse  beside  it ;  and  the  traveller  drinks  from 
it,  and  passes  over  it  with  his  staff;  and  the  peasant  traces  a  new  channel  for 
it  down  to  his  mill-wheel.  But  this  stream  has  no  companions :  it  flows  on  in 
an  infinite  seclusion,  not  secret  or  threatening,  but  a  quietness  of  sweet  daylight 
and  open  air,  —  a  broad  space  of  tender  and  deep  desolateness,  drooped  into 
repose  out  of  the  midst  of  human  labor  and  life ;  the  waves  plashing  lowly, 
with  none  to  hear  them  ;  and  the  wild  birds  building  in  the  boughs,  with  none 
to  fray  them  away  ;  and  the  soft  fragrant  herbs  rising,  and  breathing,  and 
fading,  with  no  hand  to  gather  them ;  —  and  yet  all  bright  and  bare  to  the 
clouds  above,  and  to  the  fresh  fall  of  the  passing  sunshine  and  pure  rain." 

The  following,  from  Thackeray,  will  show  how  alliteration  may  be  used  to 
intensify  some  quality  of  an  object  described :  "  What  muscle  would  not  grow 
flaccid  in  such  a  life  —  a  life  that  was  never  strung  up  to  any  action  —  an  end- 
less Capua  without  any  campaign  —  all  fiddling,  and  flowers,  and  feasting,  and 
flattery,  and  folly?" 

Indication  of  Effects.  —  "One  of  the  strongest  and  most  suc- 
cessful modes,"  says  Canon  Mozley,1  "  of  describing  any  powerful 
object,  of  any  kind,  is  to  describe  it  in  its  effects.  When  the 
spectator's  eye  is  dazzled,  and  he  shades  it,  we  form  the  idea 
of  a  splendid  object ;  when  his  face  turns  pale,  of  a  horrible  one  ; 
from  his  quick  wonder  and  admiration  we  form  the  idea  of  great 
beauty ;  from  his  silent  awe,  of  great  majesty." 

EXAMPLES.  —  Description,  or  rather  suggestion,  by  effects  is  much  used  by 
Shakespeare  in  strongly  emotional  passages,  and  especially  where  the  awe  and 

1  Mozley,  "  Essays  Historical  and  Theological,"  Vol.  II.  p.  190. 


DESCRIPTION.  343 

terror  of  the  supernatural  are  to  be  indicated.    We  have  already  had  a  touch 
of  it,  in  the  description  of  Dover  cliff,  page  336 :  — 

"  I'll  look  no  more; 

Lest  my  brain  turn,  and  the  deficient  sight 
Topple  down  headlong." 

In  "  Macbeth  "  too,  where  the  ghost  of  Banquo  appears,  Macbeth  is  repre- 
sented as  almost  beside  himself  so  long  as  he  sees  the  apparition :  — 

"  Macb.  Avaunt !  and  quit  my  sight !  let  the  earth  hide  thee  I 
Thy  bones  are  marrowless,  thy  blood  is  cold ; 
Thou  hast  no  speculation  in  those  eyes 
Which  thou  dost  glare  with ! 

Lady  M.  Think  of  this,  good  peers, 

But  as  a  thing  of  custom ;  'tis  no  other ; 
Only  it  spoils  the  pleasure  of  the  time. 

Macb.  What  man  dare,  I  dare : 
Approach  thou  like  the  rugged  Russian  bear, 
The  arm'd  rhinoceros,  or  the  Hyrcan  tiger; 
Take  any  shape  but  that,  and  my  firm  nerves 
Shall  never  tremble :  or  be  alive  again, 
And  dare  me  to  the  desert  with  thy  sword ; 
If  trembling  I  inhabit  then,  protest  me 
The  baby  of  a  girl.     Hence,  horrible  shadow ! 
Unreal  mockery,  hence !  [Ghost  disappears. 

Why  so :  being  gone, 
I  am  a  man  again. —  Pray  you,  sit  still." 

In  fact,  a  scene  gathers  such  added  significance  from  the  mood 
in  which  it  is  viewed,  or  the  kind  of  person  that  views  it,  that  in 
literary  descriptions  indications  of  this  kind  are  often  supplied  as 
a  kind  of  setting. 

This  leads  us  to  speak  of  the  two  kinds  of  description,  objective 
and  subjective.  In  objective  description,  the  writer  holds  him- 
self rigorously  to  giving  what  is  in  the  object  and  no  more  ;  exhib- 
iting every  detail  in  what  Lord  Bacon  calls  "  dry  light,"  without 
allowing  it  to  be  "  infused  and  drenched  "  with  his  emotions  and 
personal  peculiarities.  In  subjective  description,  the  writer's  feel- 
ing is  made  to  some  extent  the  determinator  of  the  portrayal ; 
that  is,  his  emotion  operates  to  robe  the  external  world  in  the 
qualities  of  his  own  soul,  so  that  the  scene  is  gloomy  or  joyful  or 


344  DESCRIPTION. 

tranquil  or  grewsome,  not  necessarily  as  so  in  itself,  but  because 
he  is.  This  kind  of  description  Ruskin  reprehends  as  a  tendency 
to  take  liberties  with  nature,  which  tendency  he  calls  the  "  pathetic 
fallacy."  It  is  thus  indicated  in  a  recent  poem  :  — 

"  If  winds  have  wailed  and  skies  wept  tears, 

To  poet's  vision  dim, 
'Twas  that  his  own  sobs  filled  his  ears, 

His  weeping  blinded  him." 

''  EXAMPLES  OF  SUBJECTIVE  DESCRIPTION.  —  It  is  a  touch  of  the  subjective 
when,  in  representing  a  man  as  rolling  a  bowlder  down  a  mountain  side  in 
order  thereby  to  crush  his  enemy,  Charles  Egbert  Craddock  says  of  the  sound, 
"  The  echoes  rang  with  a  scream  of  terror." 

The  following  bit  of  subjective  description  occurs  in  one  of  Carlyle's  letters : 
"  The  Scaur  water,  the  clearest  I  ever  saw  except  one,  came  brawling  down, 
the  voice  of  it  like  a  lamentation  among  the  winds,  answering  me  as  the  voice 
of  a  brother  wanderer  and  lamenter,  wanderer  like  me  through  a  certain  por- 
tion of  eternity  and  infinite  space.  Poor  brook  !  yet  it  was  nothing  but  drops 
of  water.  My  thought  alone  gave  it  an  individuality.  It  was  7  that  was  the 
wanderer,  far  older  and  stronger  and  greater  than  the  Scaur,  or  any  river  or 
mountain,  or  earth,  planet,  or  thing." 

In  Shakespeare's  "  Hamlet "  occurs  an  interesting  example  of  resistance  to 
the  tendency  to  make  description  subjective.  Hamlet  is  determined  to  de- 
scribe things  as  they  are,  in  spite  of  their  guise  to  his  disordered  mind :  — 

"I  have  of  late — but  wherefore  I  know  not  —  lost  all  my  mirth,  foregone 
all  custom  of  exercises;  and  indeed  it  goes  so  heavily  with  my  disposition,  that 
this  goodly  frame,  the  Earth,  seems  to  me  a  sterile  promontory;  this  most  ex- 
cellent canopy,  the  air,  look  you,  this  brave  o'erhanging  firmament,  this  majes- 
tical  roof  fretted  with  golden  fire,  —  why,  it  appears  no  other  thing  to  me  than  a 
foul  and  pestilent  congregation  of  vapors." 

Narration.  —  Description  is  so  closely  allied  to  narration  that 
the  two  are  very  extensively  used  as  accessories  of  each  other. 
Indeed,  there  are  some  forms  of  discourse  wherein  narrative  and 
descriptive  elements  are  so  evenly  balanced  that  it  is  difficult  to 
determine  which  has  the  predominance. 

It  is  a  natural  tendency,  when  an  object  is  vividly  conceived,  to 
endow  it  with  life  and  motion.  We  see  this  in  personification  and 
in  allegory.  The  employment  of  narration  as  an  accessory  to 
description  belongs  to  the  same  tendency. 


DESCRIPTION,  345 

1.  And  it  is  shown  in  almost  every  description,  first  of  all,  by 
narrative  touches,  such  as  verbs  of  motion  used  to  portray  objects 
at  rest,  the  action  involved  in  figurative  description,  and  the  like ; 
devices  which,  belonging  intrinsically  to  the  recounting  of  events, 
serve  to  enliven  the  scene  more  than  the  reader  is  aware. 

EXAMPLE.  —  Observe  how  the  italicized  words,  which  are  at  once  metaphor 
and  verbs  of  action,  enliven  the  description  in  the  following,  from  Tenny- 
son:— 

"  So  till  the  dusk  that  follow'd  evensong 

Rode  on  the  two,  reviler  and  reviled ; 

Then  after  one  long  slope  was  mounted,  saw, 

Bowl-shaped,  thro'  tops  of  many  thousand  pines 

A  gloomy-gladed  hollow  slowly  sink 

To  westward  —  in  the  deeps  whereof  a  mere, 

Round  as  the  red  eye  of  an  Eagle-owl, 

Under  the  half-dead  sunset  glared" 

2.  Something  of  narrative  character  in  description  is  often  com- 
pelled by  the  element  of  time  entering  in.     The   description  of 
a  storm,  for  instance,  or  of  a  sunrise,  must  recognize  the  changes 
of  aspect  during  the  continuance  of  the  scene ;  and  thus  the  por- 
trayal is  also  a  kind  of  story.     A  battle  may  be  treated  descrip- 
tively or  narratively ;  that  is,  the  principle  of  treatment  may  lie 
predominantly  in  the  picturing  of  scenes  or  in  the  development 
of  action ;  but  in  either  case  there  must  necessarily  be  a  large 
admixture  of  the  other  form  of  discourse. 

* 

EXAMPLE.  —  The  following,  from  one  of  Edward  Everett's  orations,  shows 
what  magnificence  of  language  may  be  lent  by  a  master  to  a  very  common 
subject :  — 

"  I  had  occasion,  a  few  weeks  since,  to  take  the  early  train  from  Providence 
to  Boston;  and  for  this  purpose  rose  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Every 
thing  around  was  wrapt  in  darkness  and  hushed  in  silence,  broken  only  by 
what  seemed  at  that  hour  the  unearthly  clank  and  *ush  of  the  train.  It 
was  a  mild,  serene,  midsummer's  night,  —  the  sky  was  without  a  cloud,  —  the 
winds  were  whist.  The  moon,  then  in  her  last  quarter,  had  just  risen,  and  the 
stars  shone  with  a  spectral  lustre  but  little  affected  by  her  presence.  Jupiter, 
two  hours  high,  was  the  herald  of  the  day;  the  Pleiades,  just  above  the  hori- 


346  DESCRIPTION. 

zon,  shed  their  sweet  influence  in  the  east;  Lyra  sparkled  near  the  zenith; 
Andromeda  veiled  her  newly-discovered  glories  from  the  naked  eye  in  the 
south;  the  steady  pointers,  far  beneath  the  pole,  looked  meekly  up  from  the 
depths  of  the  north  to  their  sovereign. 

"  Such  was  the  glorious  spectacle  as  I  entered  the  train.  As  we  proceeded, 
the  timid  approach  of  twilight  became  more  perceptible;  the  intense  blue  of 
the  sky  began  to  soften;  the  smaller  stars,  like  little  children,  went  first  to 
rest;  the  sister-beams  of  the  Pleiades  soon  melted  together;  but  the  bright 
constellations  of  the  west  and  north  remained  unchanged.  Steadily  the  won- 
drous transfiguration  went  on.  Hands  of  angels,  hidden  from  mortal  eyes, 
shifted  the  scenery  of  the  heavens ;  the  glories  of  night  dissolved  into  the 
glories  of  the  dawn.  The  blue  sky  now  turned  more  softly  gray;  the  great 
watch-stars  shut  up  their  holy  eyes  ;  the  east  began  to  kindle.  Faint  streaks 
of  purple  soon  blushed  along  the  sky;  the  whole  celestial  concave  was  filled 
with  the  inflowing  tides  of  the  morning  light,  which  came  pouring  down  from 
above  in  one  great  ocean  of  radiance  ;  till  at  length,  as  we  reached  the  Blue 
Hills,  a  flash  of  purple  fire  blazed  out  from  above  the  horizon,  and  turned 
the  dewy  tear-drops  of  flower  and  leaf  into  rubies  and  diamonds.  In  a  few 
seconds,  the  everlasting  gates  of  the  morning  were  thrown  wide  open,  and 
the  lord  of  day,  arrayed  in  glories  too  severe  for  the  gaze  of  man,  began  his 
state." 

3.  The  element  of  comprehensiveness  in  a  scene  may  also  com- 
pel the  use  of  narrative  resources ;  as  in  a  panoramic  landscape, 
whose  features  of  interest  cannot  all  be  seen  from  one  point  of  view. 
In  such  a  case  the  description  is  regulated  by  what  is  called  "  the 
traveller's  point  of  view  "  ;  that  is,  the  describer  is  represented  as 
going  from  one  point  to  another  and  portraying  successive  aspects ; 
and  the  effect  is  both  descriptive  and  narrative. 

EXAMPLE  (quoted  from  McElroy's  "  Structure  of  English  Prose").  — "The 
plan  has  been  successfully  pursued  by  M.  Taine  in  his  Tour  through  the  Pyre- 
nees :  — 

"'The  carriage  leaves  Eaux  Bonnes  at  dawn.  The  sun  is  scarcely  yet  risen, 
and  is  still  hidden  by  the  mountains.  Pale  rays  begin  to  color  the  mosses  on 
the  western  declivity.  These  mosses,  bathed  in  dew,  seem  as  if  awakening 
under  the  first  caress  of  the  day.  Rosy  hues,  of  an  inexpressible  softness,  rest 
on  the  summits,  then  steal  down  along  the  slopes.  One  could  never  have 
believed  that  these  gaunt  old  creatures  were  capable  of  an  expression  so  timid 
and  so  tender.  The  light  broadens,  heaven  expands,  the  air  is  filled  with  joy 


DESCRIPTION.  347 

and  life.  A  bald  peak  in  the  midst  of  the  rest,  and  darker  than  they,  stands 
out  in  an  aureole  of  flame.  All  at  once,  between  two  serrate  points,  like  a 
dazzling  arrow,  streams  the  first  ray  of  the  sun.' 

"  Subsequent  sections  describe  the  country  beyond  Pau,  and  the  towns  of 
Coarraze,  Lestelle  with  its  chapel,  Saint  Pe,  and  Lourdes.  Here  and  there 
appears  a  thread  of  narrative,  like  the  first  sentence  in  the  paragraph  quoted  ; 
but  oftener  the  mere  mention  of  a  new  place  keeps  up  the  sense  of  movement." 


V. 

Exactions  of  the  Object.  —  Of  the  objects,  material  and  spirit- 
ual, with  which  description  deals,  some,  as  has  been  intimated, 
contain  a  suggestion  of  structure  in  the  natural  arrangement  of 
their  parts,  while  in  treating  others  the  plan  has  to  be  constructed 
according  to  the  writer's  logical  sense.  Further,  some  objects 
require  a  greater  dependence  on  accessories  of  description  than 
others.  A  rough  classification  of  objects  may  here  be  made, 
according  to  these  natural  exactions. 

i.  The  easiest  task  for  the  descriptive  invention,  perhaps,  is 
furnished  by  those  objects  in  which  description  consists  essentially 
of  an  enumeration  of  parts.  Such  objects  comprise:  objects  in 
space,  such  as  buildings,  towns,  scenery,  works  of  art  and  mech- 
anism ;  personal  portraiture ;  and  objects  related  to  time,  such  as 
natural  phenomena,  weather,  and  the  like.  In  all  these,  when  the 
description  is  of  any  length,  the  imagination  ranges  naturally  from 
point  to  point,  either  according  to  the  simple  contiguity  of  parts  to 
each  other,  or  according  to  the  dynamic  impression  they  make 
on  the  describer.  Accessories  may  be  employed,  but  they  are 
secondary ;  the  multiplicity  of  details  requires  that  the  basis  of 
treatment,  even  if  the  treatment  is  dynamic,  be  a  definitely  con- 
ceived and  natural  plan.  The  leading  aim  is  to  let  the  order  of 
treatment,  as  far  as  may  be,  be  determined  by  the  object  itself, 
in  its  natural  suggestiveness. 

NOTE. — This  has  been  abundantly  illustrated  in  the  extended  descriptions 
already  cited;  as  for  instance,  in  the  description  of  Chartres  cathedral,  on 
page  332,  and  in  the  description  of  Starved  Rock,  on  page  334. 


348  DESCRIPTION. 

2.  Next  in  difficulty  to  the  foregoing  are  those  objects  in  which 
the  description  consists  in  the  recounting  and  portrayal  of  Qual- 
ities.    Such  objects  comprise :   character,  individual  and   collec- 
tive ;  national  conditions  and  traits  ;  scientific  accounts  of  natural 
phenomena  and  characteristics,  and  the  like.     In  all   these   the 
plan  has  to  be  made  rather  than  found;   and  its  clearness  and 
completeness  depend  therefore  on  the  writer's  logical  and  classi- 
fying powers.     Accessories  are  secondary,  as  in  the  foregoing ; 
and  the  necessity  of  a  strongly  marked  order  is  even  more  im- 
perative. 

NOTE.  —  An  example  has  been  given  in  the  plan  of  the  description  of  Queen 
Elizabeth's  character,  on  page  333.  Another  example,  which  has  been  called 
"  one  of  the  great  delineations  of  history,"  is  Motley's  description  of  the  char- 
acter of  William  the  Silent,  in  the  first  volume  of  his  "  Rise  of  the  Dutch 
Republic."  A  famous  example  of  description  of  a  nation's  condition,  and 
masterly  in  its  way,  is  the  third  chapter  of  Macaulay's  "  History  of  England," 
which  portrays  the  state  of  England  at  the  time  his  history  opens. 

3.  The  most  difficult,  and  least  adapted  to  description,  are  those 
objects  which  appeal  not  to  the  reader's  sense-perception  but  to 
his  consciousness  of  his  own  inner  experience.     Such  are  mental 
states,  mental  processes,  and  emotions.     Obviously  these  are  hard 
to  describe ;  because  if  the  reader  has  no  experience  of,  or  sus- 
ceptibility to,  the  state  or  emotion  portrayed,  any  attempt  by  words 
to  put  him  in  possession  of  it  is  in  vain.     The  author  feels  most 
vividly  his  own  inner  states,  and  to  him  they  are  profoundly  signifi- 
cant ;  but  to  impart  a  feeling  of  them,  with  any  approach  to  vivid- 
ness, is  quite  another  matter.     And  because  it  is  so  difficult,  it  is 
especially  liable  to  be  tedious. 

Of  the  management  of  such  description,  Bulwer-Lytton  says,1 
"  A  few  words  will  often  paint  the  precise  state  of  emotion  as 
faithfully  as  the  most  voluminous  essay ;  and  in  this  department 
condensation  and  brevity  are  to  be  carefully  studied.  Conduct  us 
to  the  cavern,  light  the  torch,  and  startle  and  awe  us  by  what  you 

1  Bulwer-Lytton,  "  Pamphlets  and  Sketches,"  p.  343. 


DESCRIPTION.  349 

reveal ;  but  if  you  keep  us  all  day  in  the  cavern,  the  effect  is  lost, 
and  our  only  feeling  is  that  of  impatience  and  desire  to  get 
away." 

The  skillful  writer,  however,  will  seldom  attempt  to  describe 
mental  states  and  emotions  directly.  He  falls  back  on  the  accesso- 
ries of  description,  seeking  to  impart  by  such  means  something  of 
the  vividness  of  an  object  of  sense.  The  accessories  become 
therefore  the  predominating  means  of  portrayal.  Among  these 
are  especially  to  be  mentioned  :  description  by  metaphor ;  descrip- 
tion by  narrative  ;  and  especially  description  by  effects,  in  counte- 
nance, mien,  gesture,  and  the  like. 

EXAMPLES.  —  I .  In  the  following  the  description  of  a  mental  state  is  effected 
by  means  of  metaphor.  The  examples  are  quoted  from  Henry  James. 

A  vagabond  mind.  —  "  It  had  lately  occurred  to  her  that  her  mind  was  a 
good  deal  of  a  vagabond,  and  she  had  spent  much  ingenuity  in  training  it  to 
a  military  step,  and  teaching  it  to  advance,  to  halt,  to  retreat,  to  perform  even 
more  complicated  manoeuvres,  at  the  word  of  command.  Just  now  she  had 
given  it  marching  orders,  and  it  had  been  trudging  over  the  sandy  plains  of  a 
history  of  German  Thought." 

An  over-active  imagination.  —  "  Her  imagination  was  by  habit  ridiculously 
active;  if  the  door  were  not  open  to  it,  it  jumped  out  of  the  window.  She 
was  not  accustomed,  indeed,  to  keep  it  behind  bolts  ;  and,  at  important  mo- 
ments, when  she  would  have  been  thankful  to  make  use  of  her  judgment  alone, 
she  paid  the  penalty  of  having  given  undue  encouragement  to  the  faculty  of 
seeing  without  judging." 

2.  The  following  examples  will  illustrate  description  of  emotions  and  men- 
tal states  by  their  effects.  The  first  is  from  Sir  Walter  Scott :  — 

Anger.  —  "The  Countess  stood  in  the  midst  of  her  apartment  like  a  juvenile 
Pythoness,  under  the  influence  of  the  prophetic  fury.  The  veins  in  her  beauti- 
ful forehead  started  into  swoln  blue  lines  through  the  hurried  impulse  of  her 
articulation  —  her  cheek  and  neck  glowed  like  scarlet  —  her  eyes  were  like 
those  of  an  imprisoned  eagle,  flashing  red  lightning  on  the  foes  whom  it  cannot 
reach  with  its  talons.  Were  it  possible  for  one  of  the  Graces  to  have  been 
animated  by  a  Fury,  the  countenance  could  not  have  united  such  beauty  with 
so  much  hatred,  scorn,  defiance,  and  resentment.  The  gesture  and  attitude 
corresponded  with  the  voice  and  looks,  and  altogether  presented  a  spectacle 
which  was  at  once  beautiful  and  fearful ;  so  much  of  the  sublime  had  the 
energy  of  passion  united  with  the  Countess  Amy's  natural  loveliness." 


350  DESCRIPTION. 

Listless  despair.  —  The  following  is  from  Wordsworth :  — 
"  A  sad  reverse  it  was  for  him  who  long 
Had  filled  with  plenty,  and  possessed  in  peace, 
This  lonely  Cottage.    At  the  door  he  stood, 
And  whistled  many  a  snatch  of  merry  tunes 
That  had  no  mirth  in  them ;  or  with  his  knife 
Carved  uncouth  figures  on  the  heads  of  sticks ; 
Then,  not  less  idly,  sought,  through  every  nook 
In  house  or  garden,  any  casual  work 
Of  use  or  ornament ;  and  with  a  strange, 
Amusing,  yet  uneasy  novelty, 
He  mingled,  where  he  might,  the  various  tasks 
Of  Summer,  Autumn,  Winter,  and  of  Spring." 

II.     DESCRIPTION   IN   LITERATURE. 

The  extent  to  which  description  is  employed  in  works  of  litera- 
ture, and  the  forms  in  which  it  occurs,  are  a  rather  curious  indica- 
tion of  incongruity,  or  at  least  of  difficult  relation,  between  objects 
and  means.  The  objects  to  be  described  are  just  those  in  which 
men  take  easy  and  universal  interest,  —  those  objects,  all  around 
us  in  the  world  and  in  life,  which  form  for  the  most  part  the  mate- 
rial for  the  painter's  art.  But  the  means,  namely  language,  can  be 
but  with  difficulty  adapted  to  pictorial  purposes ;  and  it  is  only  the 
few  who  can  employ  it  with  eminent  success.  The  multitude  of 
details  to  be  managed  are  an  unwieldly  material,  and  peculiarly 
liable  to  tediousness.  Even  with  the  greatest  skill,  therefore, 
brevity,  —  a  quick  impression,  combined  with  corresponding  defi- 
niteness  and  strikingness,  —  becomes  an  imperative  necessity. 

Another  consideration  goes  to  determine  the  position  of  descrip- 
tion in  literature,  namely,  men's  tendency  to  make  practical 
demands.  Readers  are  easily  wearied  with  a  portrayal,  however 
vivid,  that  stops  with  itself;  their  unspoken  demand  is  that  it 
contribute  to  explain  or  enforce  or  prove  something.  As  long  as 
it  is  subordinate  to  something  else,  it  is  interesting ;  but  let  it  exist 
for  itself  alone,  and  most  plain  people  will  regard  it  as  unpractical 
trifling.  This  is  no  doubt  the  reason  why  poetry,  which  is  largely 
descriptive  and  imitative,  must  ever  appeal  to  the  few,  not  to  the 
multitude. 


DESCRIPTION.  351 

These  considerations  enable  us  to  understand  the  fact  that, 
while  to  a  greater  or  less  extent  description  pervades  all  forms  of 
literature,  and  is  highly  valued  for  its  fitness  to  set  off  other  forms, 
comparatively  little  is  made  of  it  as  a  form  by  itself.  It  is 
esteemed,  and  justly,  as  a  delicate  indication  of  the  writer's  skill 
and  taste ;  it  has  employed  the  most  minute  and  conscientious 
pains  on  the  part  of  the  greatest  writers ;  but  its  worth  is  recog- 
nized, for  the  most  part,  only  as  it  fulfils  the  office  of  a  handmaid 
to  the  more  independent  and  practically  serviceable  forms. 

We  may  here  recount,  however,  the  types  of  which  description 
forms  the  principal  basis,  and  the  modifications  it  undergoes. 

In  Prose  Literature.  —Leaving  further  consideration  of  descrip- 
tion as  it  exists  in  passages  designed  to  serve  something  else,  we 
may  mention  two  types  of  prose  literature  of  which  description  is 
the  leading  element. 

i.  Description  is  employed  with  the  purpose  of  imparting  plain 
information,  and  with  no  attempt  to  shun  what  may  be  dry  and 
inventory-like,  in  books,  and  more  commonly  in  periodical  articles, 
whose  object  is  to  give  an  account  of  some  building,  work  of  art, 
natural  phenomenon,  or  country's  resources.  In  such  descriptions 
the  imaginative  element  is  little  regarded :  interest  centres  in 
measurements,  accurate  details,  statistics,  and  the  like.  Thorough- 
ness and  clearness  are  the  predominating  aims ;  the  subject  is 
supposed  to  contain  its  own  interest,  and  not  to  need  the  vivi- 
fying power  of  language  to  heighten  it.  Such  work  may  indeed 
profit  by  a  vigorous  and  lively  style,  so  far  as  this  does  not  in- 
terfere with  its  practical  aim;  but  the  practical  aim  must  first  be 
satisfied. 

EXAMPLES.  —  A  standard  work  of  this  kind  is  Wallace's  "Russia."  In 
periodical  literature  may  be  mentioned  such  articles  as  those  in  Harper's 
Weekly  describing  The  Congressional  Library,  the  new  Courthouse  at  Pitts- 
burg,  and  the  State  Capitol  of  Colorado  ;  Professor  Harris's  article  in  the 
Journal  of  Speculative  Philosophy  on  Michael  Angelo's  picture  of  the  Three 
Fates  ;  the  article  in  the  North  American  Review  on  the  resources  of  Texas ; 
and  many  others. 


352  DESCRIPTION. 

2.  A  more  ambitious  and  literary  use  of  description  is  seen  in 
books  and  sketches  of  travel,  —  works  that  form  a  very  popular 
feature  of  magazine  literature,  as  well  as  the  staple  of  many  favor- 
ite books.  In  these  works  description,  while  remaining  the  element 
for  which  the  book  or  article  exists,  employs  also  narrative  ele- 
ments, in  the  shape  of  incidents  and  details  of  travel ;  it  also 
assumes  generally  a  light,  lively,  conversational  style.  The  aim  is 
to  impart  information  but  at  the  same  time  to  afford  enjoyment. 
It  does  not  ordinarily  seek  the  thoroughness  and  minuteness  of 
the  foregoing  class  of  literature ;  being  occupied  rather  with  the 
endeavor  to  sketch  scenery,  towns,  customs,  and  national  types,  in 
an  enjoyable  and  realistic  manner. 

EXAMPLES.  —  Kinglake's  "  Eothen  "  is  a  brilliant  book  of  Eastern  travel. 
Bayard  Taylor's  "  Views  Afoot "  made  for  him  a  reputation  which,  strength- 
ened by  numerous  later  books  of  travel,  gave  him  a  recognized  position  as  one 
of  the  greatest  travellers  and  most  popular  writers.  A  rather  thoughtful  and 
philosophic  example  is  Emerson's  "  English  Traits."  Hawthorne's  "  Our  Old 
Home  "  is  lighter  and  more  graceful.  Only  a  mention  need  be  made  of  the 
numerous  magazine  articles  on  countries  and  places  of  interest ;  for  example, 
S.  G.  W.  Benjamin's  articles,  recently  put  into  book  form,  from  the  Century 
and  Harper's,  on  "  Persia." 

In  Poetry.  —  Poetry,  being  fundamentally  an  imaginative  art, 
is  much  better  adapted  to  description  than  prose.  Its  imagery, 
its  concreteness,  its  liberty  to  revel  in  beautiful  forms  undisturbed 
by  the  limitations  of  sober  didactics,  all  contribute  to  make  its 
picturing  power  its  predominating  feature. 

Accordingly  we  find  that  description  plays  a  more  important 
part  in  poetry  than  in  prose  literature ;  the  passages  where  it 
occurs  may  be  longer,  more  elaborate,  less  hampered  by  the  lia- 
bility to  tediousness.  In  poetry  readers  expect  to  enjoy  beautiful 
and  vivid  images  for  their  own  sake ;  this  is  largely  what  they 
read  poetry  for. 

In  spite  of  this  fact,  however,  we  find  that  distinctively  descrip- 
tive poetry  occupies  a  somewhat  less  esteemed  position  than 
other  types.  It  seems  to  encounter  the  same  prejudice  against 


DESCRIPTION.  353 

the  non-utilizable  that  we  have  noticed  regarding  prose.  Descrip- 
tion still  has  to  be  employed  mostly  in  aid  of  some  sentiment,  or 
story,  or  emotion,  in  which  the  true  significance  of  the  poem 
centres.  In  proportion  to  other  types,  therefore,  the  number  of 
descriptive  poems  is  comparatively  small ;  though  it  is  to  be  noticed 
that  among  these  are  found  some  of  the  most  valued  and  undying 
treasures  of  our  English  literature. 

EXAMPLES  OF  DESCRIPTIVE  POEMS.  —  Thompson's  "  Seasons  "  and  "  Castle 
of  Indolence";  Milton's  "L' Allegro"  and  "II  Penseroso";  Keats's  "En- 
dymion";  Beattie's  "Minstrel";  Burns's  "  Cotter's  Saturday  Night";  Gold- 
smith's "Traveller"  and  "Deserted  Village";  Tennyson's  "Palace  of  Art"; 
Browning's  "  Childe  Roland  to  the  Dark  Tower  came." 


354  NARRATION. 


CHAPTER   V. 

INVENTION  DEALING  WITH  EVENTS: 
NARRATION. 

OF  men's  natural  impulse,  mentioned  at  the  beginning  of  the 
last  chapter,  to  report  what  they  observe  in  the  world  around  them, 
narration,  the  report  of  action,  is  by  far  the  most  prevalent  out- 
come ;  it  is  the  most  natural  and  obvious  of  literary  forms.  The 
reason  of  this  is  easy  to  find.  When  we  inquire  what  ordinary 
men,  men  of  the  street  and  of  common  life,  are  interested  in  and 
talk  about,  we  find  that  it  is  almost  sure  to  be  some  manifestation 
of  action ;  a  race,  a  contest,  a  feat  of  bodily  prowess,  a  practi- 
cal joke,  —  always  something  involving  energy  and  movement. 
Such  things  can  be  observed  without  learning  and  without  painful 
thought;  moreover,  the  very  progress  of  them  is  a  stimulus  to 
sustained  attention.  The  spirited  account  of  such  things,  accord- 
ingly, is  the  kind  of  literature  that  appeals  most  easily  to  all 
classes  of  men. 

Another  reason  there  is  for  the  naturalness  of  narrative  :  it  deals 
with  the  kind  of  material  best  adapted  to  portrayal  by  language. 
We  have  seen  that  description  is  at  a  disadvantage  in  this  respect ; 
because  it  must  work  with  material  that  is  itself  at  rest,  by  a 
medium  that  must  move  in  a  succession.  In  narrative,  as  in  no 
other  literary  form  so  well,  medium  answers  spontaneously  to  ma- 
terial ;  both  the  expression  and  the  event  expressed  are  moving 
forward.  How  natural  it  is  to  run  into  narrative  form  is  shown  in 
the  employment  of  allegory  (see  preceding,  page  95),  and  in  the 
use  of  narration  as  an  accessory  of  description.  Narrative  is  the 
kind  of  discourse  whose  plan  is  least  artificial  and  labored,  comes 
nearest  to  making  itself. 


NARRATION.  355 

I.    SIMPLE  NARRATION. 

We  will  discuss  first  the  laws,  procedures,  and  cautions  of  nar- 
ration pure  and  simple,  without  the  admixture  of  elements  that  go 
to  make  the  greater  literary  types  of  which  it  is  the  basis  compos- 
ite, sometimes  very  complex,  productions. 

I. 

Definition  of  Narration.  —  Narration  is  the  recounting,  in  suc- 
cession, of  the  particulars  that  make  up  a  transaction. 
Let  us  in  a  few  words  analyze  this  definition. 

1.  Observe,  first,  that  the  word  transaction,  which  expresses  the 
subject-matter  of  narration,  implies  at  least  a  rounded  and  self- 
contained  series  of  particulars ;  and  thus  far  it  suggests  something 
of  the  aim  in  planning  a  narrative.     A  way  of  recounting  is  to  be 
sought  which  shall  maintain  a  distinctive  character,  and  which 
shall  have  a  beginning,  an  end,  a  culmination  of  interest.     The 
fact  that  narration  is  the  form  of  discourse  wherein  the  plan  most 
nearly  makes  itself  by  no  means  precludes  the  finest  and  minutest 
constructive  skill.     Indeed,  there  is  perhaps  no  other  kind  of  lit- 
erature so  sensitive  to  extraneous  elements,  and  so  dependent  for 
its  felicity  on  the  accurate  balance  of  parts,  as  narration. 

2.  Observe,  secondly,  that  narration,  like  description,  deals  with 
particulars,  not  with  generalizations ;  with  the  concrete,  not  with 
abstractions.     This  imposes  on  it  the  same  task  involved  in  de- 
scription, of  seeking  out  those  parts  and  characteristics  of  the  object 
which  are  most  individual,  most  unlike  those  of  the  class  to  which 
it  belongs.     There  is  something  in  every  transaction  which  makes 
its  interest  unique ;  and  this  is  most  to  be  sought. 

3.  Observe,  thirdly,  that  the  recounting  of  particulars  follows  a 
law  of  succession.     What  that  law  shall  be  is  a  question  to  be  de- 
termined by  the  complexity  of  the  occasion.     The  basis  of  narration 
is  indeed  the  simplest   kind  of  succession,  namely,  progress  or 
contiguity  in  time ;  and  this  predominates  in  unskilled  narrative. 
As,  however,  greater  constructive  power  and  regard  for  interest 


356  NARRA  TION. 

enter,  this  law  is  supplemented  and  reenforced  by  the  law  of  cause 
and  effect :  particulars  are  related  not  merely  because  they  oc- 
curred at  such  a  time,  but  because  they  grew  out  of  preceding 
particulars,  and  form  with  the  preceding  an  undivided  tissue.  A 
skillful  narrator  will  seek  that  any  incident,  as  related  to  what  goes 
before,  shall  be  not  only  post  hoc  but  also,  as  far  as  possible,  prop- 
ter  hoc. 

II. 

Method  of  Narration.  —  The  transaction  to  be  narrated  may 
be  real  or  fictitious ;  in  either  case,  however,  the  procedure  is  es- 
sentially the  same.  If  real,  it  is  still  to  be  related  with  skillful 
progression  and  proportion  of  parts  ;  if  fictitious,  it  is  still  to  have 
verisimilitude,  as  if  it  were  real.  And  in  either  case  the  story,  as  a 
story,  is  an  invention  ; l  it  is  to  follow  the  lines  of  construction  that 
obtain  in  fiction,  —  to  give  to  the  material  it  finds  the  same  skill  and 
freedom  of  movement  as  if  it  were  at  liberty  to  create  its  own 
material. 

That  the  right  telling  of  a  story  is  no  accident  but  the  result  of 
artistic  skill  and  tact,  is  illustrated  by  contrast  in  the  narratives  of 
the  untutored.  Walter  Bagehot,  referring  to  Coleridge,  thus  elu- 
cidates this  point : 2 "  He  (Coleridge)  observes  that  in  the  narrations 
of  uneducated  people  in  Shakespeare,  just  as  in  real  life,  there  is 
a  want  of  prospectiveness  and  a  superfluous  amount  of  regressive- 
ness.  People  of  this  sort  are  unable  to  look  a  long  way  in  front 
of  them,  and  they  wander  from  the  right  path.  They  get  on  too 
fast  with  one  half,  and  then  the  other  hopelessly  lags.  They  can 
tell  a  story  exactly  as  it  is  told  to  them  (as  an  animal  can  go 

1  Of  Macaulay's  narrative  method  it  is  said:  "  No  historian  before  him  ever  re- 
garded his  task  from  the  same  point  of  view,  or  aimed  with  such  calm  patience  and 
labor  at  the  same  result ;  no  one,  in  short,  had  ever  so  resolved  to  treat  real  events 
on  the  lines  of  the  novel  or  romance.     Many  writers  before  Macaulay  had  done 
their  best  to  be  graphic  and  picturesque,  but  none  ever  saw  that  the  scattered  frag- 
ments of  truth  could,  by  incessant  toil  directed  by  an  artistic  eye,  be  worked  into  a 
mosaic,  which  for  color,  freedom,  and  finish,  might  rival  the  creations  of  fancy."  — 
Morison,  "  Macaulay  "  (English  Men  of  Letters),  p.  143. 

2  Bagehot,  "  Literary  Studies,"  Vol.  I.  p.  145. 


NARRATION.  357 

step  by  step  where  it  has  been  before),  but  they  can't  calculate 
its  bearings  beforehand,  or  see  how  it  is  to  be  adapted  to  those  to 
whom  they  are  speaking,  nor  do  they  know  how  much  they  have 
thoroughly  told  and  how  much  they  have  not.  '  I  went  up  the 
street,  then  I  went  down  the  street ;  no,  first  went  down  and  then 

—  but  you  do  not  follow  me ;    I  go   before   you,  sir.'     Thence 
arises  the  complex  style  usually  adopted  by  persons  not  used  to 
narration.     They  tumble  into  a  story  and  get  on  as  they  can." 

EXAMPLE.  —  In  illustration  of  his  remarks,  Mr.  Bagehot  quotes  the  passage 
where  Hostess  Quickly  tells  Sir  John  Falstaff  why  she  will  not  admit  his  swag- 
gering companion  Pistol  to  her  inn  (Shakespeare,  King  Henry  IV.  Part  Sec- 
ond, Act  II.  scene  IV.)  :  — 

"  Tilly-fally,  Sir  John,  ne'er  tell  me :  your  ancient  swaggerer  comes  not  in 
my  doors.  I  was  before  Master  Tisick,  the  deputy,  t'other  day;  and,  as  he 
said  to  me,  —  'twas  no  longer  ago  than  Wednesday  last,  — '  Neighbor  Quickly,' 
says  he  ;  —  Master  Dumb,  our  minister,  was  by  then  ;  — '  Neighbor  Quickly,' 
says  he,  '  receive  those  that  are  civil ;  for,'  saith  he,  '  you  are  in  an  ill  name ' : 

—  now,  he  said  so,  I  can  tell  whereupon  ;   '  for,'  says  he,  '  you  are  an  honest 
woman,  and  well  thought  on  ;   therefore  take  heed  what  guests  you  receive ; 
receive,'  says  he,  '  no  swaggering  companions.'     There  comes  none  here :  you 
would  bless  you  to  hear  what  he  said :  no,  I'll  no  swaggerers." 

Here,  in  three  places,  the  narrator  returns  on  herself  ("  it  was  no  longer 
ago,"  etc.;  "  Master  Dumb,  our  minister,"  etc.;  "  you  would  bless  you,"  etc.); 
and  the  circumstance  she  mentions  ("  I  can  tell  you  whereupon  ")  to  authenti- 
cate Master  Tisick's  words  to  Sir  John,  is  indeed  associated  in  her  mind,  by 
contiguity,  with  the  rest ;  but  for  Sir  John's  purpose  it  is  quite  irrelevant. 

The  foregoing  remarks  and  example  suggest  the  following  es- 
sential features  of  narrative  method. 

The  Prime  Requisite :  Forecast  of  the  Whole.  —  It  is  essen- 
tial in  narrative,  first  of  all,  that  the  end  be  in  view  from  the 
beginning,  and  that  every  part  be  shaped  and  proportioned  with 
more  or  less  direct  reference  to  both.  "  Keeping  the  beginning 
and  the  end  in  view,"  says  Professor  David  Pryde,1  "  we  set  out 
from  the  right  starting-place  and  go  straight  towards  the  right  des- 
tination ;  we  introduce  no  event  that  does  not  spring  from  the 

1  Pryde,  "  Studies  in  Composition,"  p.  26. 


358  NARRATION. 

first  cause,  and  tend  to  the  great  effect ;  we  make  each  detail  a 
link  joined  to  the  one  going  before  and  the  one  coming  after ;  we 
make,  in  fact,  all  the  details  into  one  entire  chain,  which  we  can 
take  up  as  a  whole,  carry  .about  with  us,  and  retain  as  long  as  we 
please." 

This  is  illustrated  in  the  method  of  the  professional  raconteur, 
who  may  be  regarded  as  representing  the  art  of  story-telling  in  its 
most  fundamental  elements.  The  anecdotes  that  he  relates  are 
treated  as  embodying  a  point  or  sentiment  in  which  their  whole 
significance  is  concentrated ;  and  to  this  point  he  subordinates 
everything,  passing  over  preliminaries  with  a  rapid  touch,  cutting 
out  everything  that  is  not  indispensable  to  the  main  interest,  using 
description  with  utmost  parsimony ;  so  that  the  end  for  which  the 
story  exists  strikes  the  hearers  with  all  possible  clearness  and 
directness. 

EXAMPLE.  —  An  instance  of  an  anecdote  so  told  as  to  lead  by  the  simplest 
and  directest  lines  to  a  foreseen  culmination  occurs  in  one  of  F.  W.  Robert- 
son's lectures  on  Poetry.  It  illustrates  the  truth  that  "  through  the  physical 
horrors  of  warfare,  Poetry  discerns  the  redeeming  nobleness  "  :  — 

"  I  will  illustrate  this  by  one  more  anecdote  from  the  same  campaign  to 
which  allusion  has  been  already  made  —  Sir  Charles  Napier's  campaign  against 
the  robber  tribes  of  Upper  Scinde. 

"  A  detachment  of  troops  was  marching  along  a  valley,  the  cliffs  overhang- 
ing which  were  crested  by  the  enemy.  A  sergeant,  with  eleven  men,  chanced 
to  become  separated  from  the  rest  by  taking  the  wrong  side  of  a  ravine,  which 
they  expected  soon  to  terminate,  but  which  suddenly  deepened  into  an  impas- 
sable chasm.  The  officer  in  command  signalled  to  the  party  an  order  to  return. 
They  mistook  the  signal  for  a  command  to  charge  ;  the  brave  fellows  answered 
with  a  cheer,  and  charged.  At  the  summit  of  the  steep  mountain  was  a  trian- 
gular platform,  defended  by  a  breastwork,  behind  which  were  seventy  of  the 
foe.  On  they  went,  charging  up  one  of  those  fearful  paths,  eleven  against 
seventy.  The  contest  could  not  long  be  doubtful  with  such  odds.  One  after 
another  they  fell ;  six  upon  the  spot,  the  remainder  hurled  backwards  ;  but 
not  until  they  had  slain  nearly  twice  their  own  number. 

"There  is  a  custom,  we  are  told,  amongst  the  hillsmen,  that  when  a  great 
chieftain  of  their  own  falls  in  battle,  his  wrist  is  bound  with  a  thread  either  of 
red  or  green,  the  red  denoting  the  highest  rank.  According  to  custom,  they 
stripped  the  dead,  and  threw  their  bodies  over  the  precipice.  When  their 


NARRATION.  359 

comrades  came,  they  found  their  corpses  stark  and  gashed ;  but  round  both 
wrists  of  every  British  hero,was  twined  the  red  thread ! " 

Here  evidently  the  end  is  foreseen  from  the  beginning,  and  not  a  particular 
is  introduced  but  that  contributes  some  essential  toward  it. 

The  Twofold  Interest.  —  From  the  above  remarks  and  exam- 
ple it  appears  that  in  forecasting  a  story  the  writer  is  to  provide 
for  two  kinds  -of  interest,  the  interest  of  plot  and  incident,  and 
the  interest  of  purpose. 

1.  He  is  to  seek  the  interest  of  plot  and  incident,  that  is,  the 
interest  that  the  reader  derives  from  a  skillfully  managed  mechan- 
ism.    As  already  said,  he  is  to  construct  the  narrative  and  foster 
the  reader's  attention  with  reference  to  the  end,  or  as  it  is  techni- 
cally called  the  denouement ;  this  is  what  plot  requires.     Accord- 
ingly, incidents  and  circumstances  are  introduced  not  merely  for 
the  interest  that  belongs  to  them  individually,  but  for  their  value 
in  contributing  to  the  larger  interest.     To  belong  rightly  to  the 
story  each  incident  must  advance  by  one  step  the  general  aim. 

NOTE.  —  Just  as  a  short  story  is  a  series  of  incidents,  so  a  longer  story  must 
generally  be  largely  a  series  of  scenes.  These  may  be  widely  separated,  and 
contain  wholly  different  characters  ;  but  each  takes  its  place  to  contribute 
some  real  thing  toward  the  foreseen  end.  Of  course  the  incidents  of  a  short 
story  must  be  more  closely  connected  with  the  end,  and  contribute  more 
directly,  in  proportion,  than  the  scenes  of  a  long  story;  but  the  same  principle 
must  underlie  both. 

2.  He  is  to  seek  the  interest  of  purpose ;  that  is,  the  end  of  his 
story  should  be  important  enough  and  worthy  enough,  both  struc- 
turally and  morally,  to  justify  all  the  preparation  made  to  reach 
it.     Every  story  ought  really  to  teach  something.     "  Some  central 
truth,"  says  Leslie  Stephen.1  "  should  be  embodied  in  every  work 
of  fiction,  which  cannot  indeed  be  compressed  into  a  definite 
formula,  but  which  acts  as  the  animating  and  informing  principle, 

i  Stephen,  "  Hours  in  a  Library,"  First  Series,  p.  204.  Bulwer-Lytton  says  this 
tendency  to  make  a  story  embody  a  moral  purpose  "  has  been  a  striking  character- 
istic of  the  art  of  our  century  " ;  see  "  Caxtoniana,"  p.  316.  This  purpose  is  what 
he  elsewhere  calls  the  Conception ;  see  "  Pamphlets  and  Sketches,"  p.  333. 


360  NARRATION. 

determining  the  main  lines  of  the  structure  and  affecting  even  its 
trivial  details."  Despite  the  popular  clamor  against  stories  with 
a  moral  purpose,  this  is  the  unspoken  demand  of  every  reader ; 
we  are  impatient  of  a  story  that  leads  nowhere.  It  must  be  more 
than  picturesque  or  exciting ;  it  must  also  embody  a  motive  and 
conception  through  which  it  shall  add  to  the  wisdom  and  moral 
vigor  of  its  readers.  The  failure  to  conduct  the  action  to  a 
worthy  culmination  is  what  Horace  satirizes  in  his  well-known 
verses : l — 

"Quid  dignum  tanto  feret  hie  promissor  hiatu? 
Parturient  monies,  nascetur  ridiculus  mus." 

Not  that  this  purpose  is  to  be  so  obtrusive  as  to  make  the  story 
a  sermon  in  disguise  ;  nor  is  it  to  be  appended  as  a  moral.  It  is 
rather  to  pervade  the  production,  —  never  absent,  never  asserting 
itself ;  something  "  to  be  divined  by  the  reader,  not  explained  by 
the  author."  "A  high  truth,"  says  Hawthorne,2  "fairly,  finely, 
and  skillfully  wrought  out,  brightening  at  every  step,  and  crowning 
the  final  development  of  a  work  of  fiction,  may  add  an  artistic 
glory,  but  is  never  any  truer,  and  seldom  any  more  evident,  at  the 
last  page  than  at  the  first." 

NOTE. — "Thus,"  says  Bulwer-Lytton,  "in  Goethe's  novel  of  'Wilhelm  Meis- 
ter,'  besides  the  mere  interest  of  the  incidents,  there  is  an  interest  in  the 
inward  signification  of  an  artist's  apprenticeship  in  art,  of  a  man's  apprentice- 
ship in  life.  In  'Transformation'  ('The  Marble  Faun'),  by  Mr.  Hawthorne, 
the  mere  story  of  outward  incident  can  never  be  properly  understood,  unless 
the  reader's  mind  goes  along  with  the  exquisite  mysticism  which  is  symbolized 
by  the  characters.  In  that  work,  often  very  faulty  in  the  execution,  exceed- 
ingly grand  in  the  conception,  are  typified  the  classical  sensuous  life,  through 
Donate;  the  Jewish  dispensation,  through  Miriam;  the  Christian  dispensa- 
tion, through  Hilda,  who  looks  over  the  ruins  of  Rome  from  her  virgin  cham- 
ber amidst  the  doves." 

Instances  of  stories  with  strongly  emphasized  purpose,  though  not  so  as  to 
interfere  with  the  artistic  construction  of  the  work,  are  found  in  Mrs.  H.  B. 
Stowe's  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  and  Mrs.  Helen  Hunt  Jackson's  "  Ramona." 

1  Horace,  Epistola  ad  Pisones  de  Arte  Poetica,  138. 

2  Hawthorne,  "  House  of  Seven  Gables,"  Preface. 


NARRA  TJON.  361 

In  some  of  the  stories  of  Dickens  and  Charles  Reade  the  moral  purpose  is  so 
prominent  as  to  impair  the  artistic  structure  and  incur  the  reproach  of  being 
lugged  in;  as  instanced  in  "Bleak  House,"  which  attacks  the  defects  of  the 
English  Chancery  courts,  and  "  Little  Dorrit,"  which  in  a  similar  way  attacks 
the  English  red-tape  systems  in  affairs  of  government  and  justice. 

Kinds  of  Succession  in  Details.  —  The  narrative  plan  is  espe- 
cially exacting  with  regard  to  the  succession  of  details  :  its  parts 
must  be  a  palpable  and  regularly  advancing  series,  from  beginning 
to  end.  In  general,  therefore,  that  order  is  to  be  sought  in  which 
each  earlier  particular  will  best  prepare  for  and  lead  to  what  suc- 
ceeds. 

1 .  The  general  basis  of  every  narrative  must  be  chronological, 
—  the  order  of  time.     Whatever  transgression  of  this  order  there 
may  be  in  minor  points,  this  must  be  the  general  progress  recalled 
by  the  reader,  as  he  endeavors  to  recollect  the  whole. 

2.  It  is  sometimes  wiser,  however,  in  a  complex  narrative,  to 
make  the  order  of  time  yield  in  some  parts  to  the  order  of  depend- 
ence.    Events  separated  by  a  considerable  period  may  still  be 
cause  and  effect;  and  accordingly  the  true   significance   of  the 
story  may  demand  that  intervening  events  be  reserved  to  some 
point  out  of  chronological  order,  while  the  details  belonging  to 
one  series  are  grouped  together. 

NOTE.  —  In  Motley's  "  Dutch  Republic  "  occurs  the  following  remark  :  "  To 
avoid  interrupting  the  continuity  of  the  narrative,  the  Spanish  campaign  has 
been  briefly  sketched  until  the  autumn  of  1557,  at  which  period  the  treaty 
between  the  Pope  and  Philip  was  concluded.  It  is  now  necessary  to  go  back 
to  the  close  of  the  preceding  year." 

Longfellow  thus  justifies  this  occasional  liberty  of  narration :  — 

"  Nor  let  the  Historian  blame  the  Poet  here, 
If  he  perchance  misdate  the  day  or  year, 
And  group  events  together,  by  his  art, 
That  in  the  Chronicles  lie  far  apart ; 
For  as  the  double  stars,  though  sundered  fax, 
Seem  to  the  naked  eye  a  single  star, 
So  facts  of  history,  at  a  distance  seen, 
Into  one  common  point  of  light  convene." 


362  NARRATION, 

3.  Sometimes  also,  in  order  to  secure  a  more  effective  incep- 
tion, the  narrator  begins  the  story  at  some  point  along  in  the 
plot,  and  then  brings  up  what  preceded  in  the  form  of  an  expla- 
nation, or  as  related  by  some  personage  of  the  story. 

NOTE.  —  In  Carlyle's  "  French  Revolution,"  which  is  strictly  chronological, 
several  books  of  the  history  precede  that  incident  where  the  courtier  answers 
Louis  XVI.,  "No,  Sire,  it  is  a  revolution  ";  while  M.  Taine  takes  this  incident 
as  a  dramatic  beginning  to  his  history,  and  then  brings  up  the  causes  of  the 
revolution  to  that  point. 

In  Homer's  Odyssey,  Books  ix.-xii.  are  taken  up  with  Ulysses'  story  of  his 
earlier  wanderings,  related  by  him  to  the  Phseacians.  In  Virgil's  ^Eneid,  also, 
^Eneas  relates,  in  Books  ii.  and  iii.,  his  previous  adventures  to  Queen  Dido. 
George  Eliot,  in  the  beginning  of  "  Daniel  Deronda,"  introduces  her  heroine 
at  the  gaming-table,  and  afterwards,  when  the  incidents  immediately  connected 
with  that  scene  are  disposed  of,  goes  back  and  relates  how  the  heroine  came 
to  such  a  position. 

Episodes. — The  word  episode,  from  the  Greek  eVe/o-oSos,  a 
coming  in  besides  (f-rrt  and  etcroSos) ,  is  a  term  used  more  especially 
in  connection  with  the  action  of  an  epic  poem,  to  denote  a  sub- 
ordinate action,  separable  from  the  main  story  yet  connected  with 
it,  —  an  action  brought  in  to  give  greater  variety  to  the  incidents 
of  the  poem.  The  purpose  of  the  episode  demands  that  its  char- 
acter be  so  different  from  the  rest  as  to  offer  a  decided  relief,  that 
it  be  not  so  long  or  so  elaborate  as  to  usurp  the  interest  of  the 
main  action,  and  yet  that  it  be  so  carefully  finished  as  to  compen- 
sate by  its  beauty  for  the  reader's  impatience  at  being  interrupted. 
The  episodes  of  the  great  epics  are  often  the  parts  on  which  the 
writers  have  laid  out  their  greatest  skill. 

NOTE. —  Instances  of  episode  are,  the  parting  of  Hector  and  Andromache, 
in  the  Iliad,  Book  vi.,  a  beautiful  home  scene  coming  between  and  relieving 
scenes  of  warlike  contest;  and  the  Archangel  Michael's  prophecy  to  Adam  of 
what  shall  befall  his  posterity,  in  Paradise  Lost,  Books  xi.  and  xii.,  affording 
consolation  for  the  bitter  agony  of  man's  fall. 

Modern  invented  narrative  is  ordinarily  very  intolerant  of  episodes. 
It  demands  that  every  part  —  description,  action,  and  dialogue  — 


NARRA  TION.  363 

contribute  more  or  less  directly  to  bring  about  the  denouement. 
"There  should  be,"  says  Anthony  Trollope,1  "no  episodes  in  a 
novel.  Every  sentence,  every  word,  through  all  those  pages, 
should  tend  to  the  telling  of  the  story.  Such  episodes  distract  the 
attention  of  the  reader,  and  always  do  so  disagreeably.  Who  has 
not  felt  this  to  be  the  case,  even  with  'The  Curious  Impertinent,' 
and  with  the  '  History  of  the  Man  of  the  Hill '  ?  And  if  it  be  so 
with  Cervantes  and  Fielding,  who  can  hope  to  succeed?  Though 
the  novel  which  you  have  to  write  must  be  long,  let  it  be  all  one. 
And  this  exclusion  of  episodes  should  be  carried  down  into  the 
smallest  details." 

NOTE.  —  The  above  remarks  are  of  course  not  applicable  to  literary  works 
of  loose  construction  like  "The  Pickwick  Papers,"  which  aim  only  subordi- 
nately  at  plot,  and  are  intended  as  a  repository  of  all  kinds  of  description  and 
incident.  In  these  the  detached  stories  introduced  are  no  more  episode,  as 
related  to  the  whole,  than  are  many  of  the  adventures. 

The  object  for  which  episodes  are  employed,  namely  the  relief 
afforded  by  alternating  one  scene  with  another  of  less  severe  or 
exciting  character,  is  effected  to  better  purpose  by  the  changes  due 
to  interwoven  plots ;  concerning  which  latter  something  will  be 
said  further  on.2 

III. 

Movement  in  Narration.  — The  life  of  a  narrative  as  a  whole, 
and  the  relative  significance  of  its  parts,  depend  on  the  manner  in 
which  the  events  are  made  to  move  forward  to  their  culmination. 
For  in  a  skillful  narrative  there  are  many  kinds  of  movement :  in 
one  place,  perhaps,  the  events  of  a  long  period  summarized  in  a 
few  swift  words,  in  another  elaborate  and  slow  labor  devoted  to  the 
action  of  moments.  Description  may  enter  every  narrative,  but 
only  in  the  right  place  ;  it  must  not  retard  a  movement  that  should 
advance  quickly  and  without  interruption.  Some  important  parts, 

1  Trollope,  "  Autobiography,"  p.  214. 
8  See  below,  p.  373. 


364  NARRA  TION. 

on  the  other  hand,  will  not  bear  to  be  disposed  of  quickly ;  they 
must  receive  attention  according  to  their  importance.  To  provide 
for  such  requirements  as  these,  and  be  unerring,  makes  the  man- 
agement of  a  story's  movement  the  most  delicate  problem  in 
narration. 

Movement  Retarded  or  Accelerated.  —  The  following  are  the 
principal  means  and  occasions  of  giving  the  narrative  either  slow- 
ness or  rapidity  of  movement. 

i.  Movement  is  retarded  by  accumulating  circumstances  and 
dwelling  on  the  successive  stages  and  aspects  of  the  incident; 
also  by  employing  descriptive  and  interpretative  elements,  in  order 
that  the  incident  may  stand  out  as  a  central  feature  of  interest. 
Such  slowness  of  movement  is  needed  for  the  principal  stages  and 
dramatic  points  of  the  story,  in  order  to  detain  and  impress  the 
reader's  attention  according  to  their  importance. 

EXAMPLE.  —  A  well-known  scene  in  Scott's  "  Talisman  "  relates  how,  when 
Richard  Coeur  de  Leon  was  making  a  friendly  visit  to  Sultan  Saladin,  on  being 
requested  to  show  his  far-famed  strength,  he  clove  in  two  an  iron  bar  by  a 
single  blow  of  his  sword;  whereupon  the  Sultan,  in  turn,  severed  with  his 
scimitar  first  a  cushion  of  down,  standing  unsupported  on  its  end,  and  then 
a  gauze  veil  laid  across  the  weapon  in  mid  air. 

Now  in  this  scene  it  is  evident  that  the  cardinal  incidents  are  the  blows 
with  the  sword  and  the  scimitar.  Observe  in  what  slow  movement,  and  with 
what  accumulation  of  circumstances  these  are  related :  — 

"The  glittering  broadsword,  wielded  by  both  his  hands,  rose  aloft  to  the 
King's  left  shoulder,  circled  round  his  head,  descended  with  the  sway  of  some 
terrific  engine,  and  the  bar  of  iron  rolled  on  the  ground  in  two  pieces,  as  a 
woodsman  would  sever  a  sapling  with  a  hedging-bill." 

Similarly  the  act  of  Saladin :  " '  Mark,  then,'  said  Saladin;  and  tucking  up 
the  sleeve  of  his  gown,  shewed  his  arm,  thin  indeed  and  spare,  but  which  con- 
stant exercise  had  hardened  into  a  mass  consisting  of  nought  but  bone,  brawn, 
and  sinew.  He  unsheathed  his  scimitar,  a  curved  and  narrow  blade,  which 
glittered  not  like  the  swords  of  the  Franks,  but  was,  on  the  contrary,  of  a  dull 
blue  color,  marked  with  ten  millions  of  meandering  lines,  which  shewed  how 
anxiously  the  metal  had  been  welded  by  the  armorer.  Wielding  this  weapon, 
apparently  so  inefficient  when  compared  to  that  of  Richard,  the  Soldan  stood 
resting  his  weight  upon  his  left  foot,  which  was  slightly  advanced;  he  balanced 
himself  a  little  as  if  to  steady  his  aim,  then  stepping  at  once  forward,  drew  the 


NARRA  TION.  365 

scimitar  across  the  cushion,  applying  the  edge  so  dexterously,  and  with  so 
little  apparent  effort,  that  the  cushion  seemed  rather  to  fall  asunder  than  to 
be  divided  by  violence." 

Such  retarded  movement  on  a  large  scale,  with  the  alternating 
rapidity  and  brevity  of  dispatch  in  less  significant  parts,  is  called 
historical  perspective ;  being  the  means  adopted  in  historical  writ- 
ing for  making  events  appear  in  their  true  relative  rank,  whether 
important  or  insignificant. 

NOTE.  —  In  the  preface  to  the  "  History  of  the  United  Netherlands,"  Motley 
thus  indicates  his  observance  of  perspective :  "  The  materials  for  the  volumes 
now  offered  to  the  public  were  so  abundant  that  it  was  almost  impossible  to 
condense  them  into  smaller  compass  without  doing  injustice  to  the  subject. 
It  was  desirable  to  throw  full  light  on  these  prominent  points  of  the  history, 
while  the  law  of  historical  perspective  will  allow  long  stretches  of  shadow  in 
the  succeeding  portions,  in  which  less  important  objects  may  be  more  slightly 
indicated." 

2.  Movement  is  accelerated  by  giving  only  the  main  outlines  of 
the  action,  and  rejecting  descriptive  and  amplifying  details.  The 
specially  significant  aspects  of  the  incident  alone  are  given,  and 
these  merely  named,  not  dwelt  upon.  Such  rapidity  of  move- 
ment has  two  principal  uses :  expressed  in  strong  and  trenchant 
terms,  it  portrays  the  life  and  vigor  of  a  stirring  incident ;  ex- 
pressed in  general  and  comprehensive  terms,  it  passes  briefly  over 
unimportant  periods  of  the  action.1 

EXAMPLES.  —  i .  Rapid  movement  to  suit  a  stirring  scene  is  well  exemplified 
in  the  following  paragraph,  from  "  Tom  Brown  at  Oxford,"  describing  a  boat- 
race  :  — 

"  There  it  comes,  at  last  —  the  flash  of  the  starting  gun.  Long  before  the 
sound  of  the  report  can  roll  up  the  river,  the  whole  pent-up  life  and  energy 
which  has  been  held  in  leash,  as  it  were,  for  the  last  six  minutes,  is  loose,  and 
breaks  away  with  a  bound  and  a  dash  which  he  who  has  felt  it  will  remember 
for  his  life,  but  the  like  of  which,  will  he  ever  feel  again?  The  starting  ropes 
drop  from  the  coxswain's  hands,  the  oars  flash  into  the  water,  and  gleam  on 
the  feather,  the  spray  flies  from  them,  and  the  boats  leap  forward." 

1  For  the  expression  of  such  movement,  see  what  is  said  on  Condensation,  pp. 
IS4-I59- 


366  NARRATION. 

2.  The  following,  from  De  Quincey,  illustrates  how  an  action  whose  details 
are  less  important  than  its  general  effect  is  crowded  together  into  rapidly  suc- 
ceeding pictures : — 

"  A  redoubt,  which  has  fallen  into  the  enemy's  hands,  must  be  recaptured 
at  any  price,  and  under  circumstances  of  all  but  hopeless  difficulty.  A  strong 
party  has  volunteered  for  the  service ;  there  is  a  cry  for  somebody  to  head 
them;  you  see  a  soldier  step  out  from  the  ranks  to  assume  this  dangerous 
leadership;  the  party  moves  rapidly  forward;  in  a  few  minutes  it  is  swallowed 
up  from  your  eyes  in  clouds  of  smoke;  for  one  half  hour,  from  behind  these 
clouds,  you  receive  hieroglyphic  reports  of  bloody  strife  —  fierce  repeating 
signals,  flashes  from  the  guns,  rolling  musketry,  and  exulting  hurrahs  advanc- 
ing or  receding,  slackening  or  redoubling.  At  length  all  is  over;  the  redoubt 
has  been  recovered;  that  which  was  lost  is  found  again;  the  jewel  which  had 
been  made  captive  is  ransomed  with  blood." 

Toward  the  end  of  a  narrative,  as  it  nears  its  culmination,  as 
also  in  corresponding  degree  toward  any  important  and  evidently 
approaching  crisis  in  the  story,  there  is  a  tendency  to  accelerated 
movement  which  the  writer  should  heed.  When  the  reader's 
anticipation  is  aroused,  the  action  should  hasten  by  the  shortest 
route  to  the  promised  end.  Accordingly,  such  a  point  is  not  the 
place  for  extended  description ;  and  the  dialogue  needs  to  be 
telling  and  brief.  Whatever  is  necessary  to  the  understanding  of 
the  action  should  be  already  in  the  reader's  possession.  It  is  on 
this  account  that  the  introduction  of  a  new  character  in  order  to 
complete  the  denouement  is  regarded  as  a  blemish  in  the  structure. 

Movement  Emphasized.  —  Apart  from  the  question  of  rapidity 
or  slowness,  there  are  various  means,  very  naturally  employed,  of 
making  the  important  stages  of  a  narrative  pointed  and  striking. 

i.  By  contrast.  It  is  a  natural  impulse  to  make  calm  scenes 
alternate  with  stormy  or  exciting  ones,  to  set  people  of  contrasted 
character  or  appearance  over  against  each  other,  to  give  opposite 
moods  of  the  same  person  in  striking  succession.  Life  as  well  as 
literature  is  full  of  such  antitheses. 

EXAMPLE.  —  A  good  example  of  such  contrast  is  the  scene  in  Scott's 
"  Kenilworth "  where  Queen  Elizabeth  discovers  her  favorite  Leicester's 
treachery  to  Amy  Robsart :  — 


NARRA  TION.  367 

"  If,  in  the  midst  of  the  most  serene  day  of  summer,  when  all  is  light  and 
laughing  around,  a  thunderbolt  were  to  fall  from  the  clear  blue  vault  of  heaven, 
and  rend  the  earth  at  the  very  feet  of  some  careless  traveller,  he  could  not 
gaze  upon  the  smouldering  chasm,  which  so  unexpectedly  yawned  before  him, 
with  half  the  astonishment  and  fear  which  Leicester  felt  at  the  sight  that  so 
suddenly  presented  itself.  He  had  that  instant  been  receiving,  with  a  political 
affectation  of  disavowing  and  misunderstanding  their  meaning,  the  half  ut- 
tered, half  intimated  congratulations  of  the  courtiers  upon  the  favor  of  the 
Queen,  carried  apparently  to  its  highest  pitch  during  the  interview  of  that 
morning;  from  which  most  of  them  seemed  to  augur,  that  he  might  soon  arise 
from  their  equal  in  rank  to  become  their  master.  And  now,  while  the  sub- 
dued yet  proud  smile  with  which  he  disclaimed  those  inferences  was  yet  curl- 
ing his  cheek,  the  Queen  shot  into  the  circle,  her  passions  excited  to  the 
uttermost;  and  supporting  with  one  hand,  and  apparently  without  an  effort, 
the  pale  and  sinking  form  of  his  almost  expiring  wife,  and  pointing  with  the 
finger  of  the  other  to  her  half  dead  features,  demanded  in  a  voice  that  sounded 
to  the  ears  of  the  astounded  statesman  like  the  last  dread  trumpet-call,  that  is 
to  summon  body  and  spirit  to  the  judgment-seat, '  Knowest  thou  this  woman? ' " 

2.  By  climax.     There  is  a  natural  feeling  that  important  steps 
in  the  action  ought  in  some  way  to  be  prepared  for ;  the  prelim- 
inary circumstances  being  given  with  such  increasing  intensity  of 
interest  that  the  reader  may  be  aware  when  he  is  approaching  some 
important  disclosure. 

EXAMPLE.  —  In  the  scene  between  Richard  and  Saladin,  already  cited,  the 
following  bit  of  conversation,  introduced  after  Richard  has  placed  the  iron  bar 
ready  for  the  blow  of  his  sword,  would  seem  to  be  intended  to  lead  up  to  a 
more  vivid  realization  of  the  King's  tremendous  feat :  — 

"The  anxiety  of  De  Vaux  for  his  master's  honor  led  him  to  whisper  in 
English  — '  For  the  blessed  Virgin's  sake,  beware  what  you  attempt,  my  liege ! 
Your  full  strength  is  not  as  yet  returned  —  give  no  triumph  to  flle  infidel.' 

'Peace,  fool ! '  said  Richard,  standing  firm  on  his  ground,  and  casting  a  fierce 
glance  around — '  thinkest  thou  that  I  can  fail  in  his  presence?'  " 

The  feat  that  Saladin  performs  is  similarly  prepared  for,  —  by  a  climax  in- 
volving a  suggested  antithesis. 

3.  By  surprise.     Such  preparation  for  an  event  as  is  implied  in 
climax  can  easily  be  overdone.     There  is  a  way  of  leading  on  the 
reader  without  letting  him  guess  what  is  coming ;  while  he  is  kept 


368  NARRATION. 

alert  and  in  suspense,  yet  successive  developments  are  brought  on 
where  they  will  produce  their  most  powerful  effect  by  unexpect- 
edness, or  where  they  will  throw  a  sudden  light  on  what  has 
hitherto  been  mysterious. 

NOTE.  —  The  working  of  this  principle  is  mostly  to  be  discerned  on  too 
large  a  scale  to  permit  of  quotation  here.  Mr.  Wilkie  Collins,  who  is  an 
especially  skillful  constructor  of  narrative  plots,  is  a  master  in  the  art  of  unex- 
pected effects;  in  "The  Moonstone,"  for  instance,  while  important  junctures 
in  the  story  are  fully  prepared  for,  the  intricate  plot  always  turns  in  the  way 
least  to  be  foreseen. 

4.  By  suggestion.  Sometimes,  when  an  important  event  has 
been  so  fully  anticipated  that  it  suggests  itself,  it  is  left  to  the 
reader's  imagination  to  complete.  This  is  especially  the  case 
when  it  is  an  event  whose  details  would  be  disagreeable  or  pro- 
duce a  feeling  of  horror. 

EXAMPLE.  — The  close  of  Dickens's  "Tale  of  Two  Cities"  is  a  scene  of  the 
Terror  in  France,  where  many  victims  of  the  guillotine  are  executed,  their 
numbers  told  off  one  by  one  by  the  knitting-women.  The  death  of  the  hero 
is  thus  left  to  suggestion :  — 

"She  kisses  his  lips;  he  kisses  hers;  they  solemnly  bless  each  other.  The 
spare  hand  does  not  tremble  as  he  releases  it;  nothing  worse  than  a  sweet, 
bright  constancy  is  in  the  patient  face.  She  goes  next  before  him  —  is  gone; 
the  knitting-women  count  Twenty-Two. 

" '  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life,  saith  the  Lord :  he  that  believeth  in 
me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live :  and  whosoever  liveth  and  be- 
lieveth in  me  shall  never  die.'  " 

"The  murmuring  of  many  voices,  the  upturning  of  many  faces,  the  pressing 
on  of  many  footsteps  in  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  so  that  it  swells  forward 
in  a  mass,  like  one  great  heave  of  water,  all  flashes  away.  Twenty-Three  .  .  . 

"  They  said  of  him  about  the  city  that  night,  that  it  was  the  peacefullest  man's 
face  ever  beheld  there.  Many  added  that  he  looked  sublime  and  prophetic." 

IV. 

What  Narration  owes  to  Description.  —  The  intimate  con- 
nection of  narration  and  description,  which  has  been  already  men- 
tioned, gives  rise  to  some  forms  of  discourse  wherein  it  is  hard  to 


NARRA  TION.  369 

determine  which  of  the  two  predominates.  Nor  perhaps  would 
there  be  any  practical  good  in  attempting  a  distinction ;  though 
in  general  it  may  be  said  that  where  the  narrative  or  story-telling 
feeling  predominates  it  leads  to  a  more  or  less  carefully  constructed 
plot ;  while  the  descriptive  feeling  in  predominance  is  content 
with  the  moving  portrayal  of  a  series  of  scenes,  without  special 
care  for  the  interaction  of  events. 

The  following  are  the  aspects  most  noticeable  in  the  mixture  of 
the  two  forms  of  discourse. 

Narration  convoyed  by  Description.  —  Every  extended  nar- 
rative must  rely  on  description  for  some  essential  features  of  its 
structure ;  or,  as  is  here  expressed,  it  must  be  convoyed  by  de- 
scription. The  main  offices  of  description  in  narration  may  be 
described  under  two  heads. 

1.  Description  prepares  the  scene.    The  introductory  part  of 
any  narrative,  whether  real  or  fictitious,  must  be  largely  an  account 
of  the  setting   of  dates,  places,  customs,  characters.     Economy 
requires  that  just  so  much  description  of  this  kind  be  given  as  is 
needed  to  explain  the  succeeding  narrative,  and  no  more  than  can 
be  fully  utilized  by  it. 

A  descriptive  beginning  labors  under  the  disadvantage  of  delay- 
ing the  action,  and  thus  not  seizing  promptly  on  the  reader's 
interest ;  this  is  evinced  in  the  remark  often  made  that  one  "  can- 
not get  started"  in  reading  a  story.  This  disadvantage  cannot 
always  be  avoided  without  incurring  greater  ones ;  but  sometimes 
a  striking  beginning  is  made,  by  dialogue  or  some  narrative  ele- 
ment, and  the  story  is  carried  on  in  this  way  until  interest  is  well 
aroused ;  whereupon  the  descriptive  introduction  is  given  in  a 
kind  of  pause,  or,  less  often,  by  some  of  the  interlocutors.  Another 
way  is  to  give  the  descriptive  introduction  piecemeal,  in  connec- 
tion with  the  successive  steps  of  the  action  or  dialogue. 

2.  Description  is  the  expositor  of  the  narrative.     That  is,  the 
bearing  of  events  on  one  another,  the  significance  of  characters, 
the  junctures  and  turning-points  of  the  action,  the  importance  of 
minute  features  that  would  otherwise  escape  notice,  are  brought 


370  NARRATION. 

out  mainly  by  means  of  description.  It  is  thus  an  element  of  great 
importance  for  keeping  the  balance  and  perspective  of  the  whole. 

Authors  differ  greatly  in  the  prominence  they  give  to  this  de- 
scriptive element  in  narration.  With  some  it  is  the  strong  point, 
and  a  lack  of  completeness  in  the  plot  is  made  up  by  its  means  ; 
with  others  it  is  cut  down  to  a  very  subordinate  office,  while  the 
plot  absorbs  the  interest.  In  all  this  the  writer  must  follow  his 
individual  aptitude ;  the  caution  is,  not  to  introduce  description 
so  as  to  disturb  the  proper  movement  of  the  passage,  —  as  for 
instance,  stopping  to  portray  a  character  or  admire  a  scene  in  a 
place  where  the  reader  is  waiting  in  eager  suspense  for  a  denoue- 
ment. The  story  should  be  kept  moving,  according  to  the  ideal 
pace,  rapid  or  slow,  required  by  its  underlying  sentiment. 

Discursive  Narration.  —  This  name  may  be  given  to  narrative 
in  which  the  descriptive  feeling  predominates.  Its  characteristic 
is  that  the  story  is  not  plotted,  does  not  conduct  the  action  to 
a  denouement,  but  goes  merely  where  the  descriptive  element 
leads  it,  or  is  bounded  by  the  natural  lapse  of  time.  The  account 
of  an  excursion,  or  a  race,  or  a  contest,  would  come  under  this 
head ;  such  accounts  are  popularly  called  descriptions  as  often  as 
they  are  called  narratives. 

The  fact  that  in  such  narration  interest  is  centred  not  in  a 
plot  but  in  a  scene  leads  to  an  important  modification  of  the 
style.  When,  as  in  a  plot,  the  action  is  exciting  and  absorbing, 
the  manner  of  recounting  should  be  simple  ;  the  interest  does 
not  require  the  aid  of  highly-wrought  expression.  When,  however, 
it  is  the  scene  that  absorbs  the  attention,  the  language  has  to  be 
more  the  language  of  description ;  it  needs  to  be  rapid,  spirited, 
picturesque,  to  answer  to  the  life  and  spirit  of  the  scene,  or  to 
portray  intense  energy  in  action ;  or  again,  it  has  to  be  meditative, 
flowing,  charged  with  sentiment,  to  answer  to  the  more  tranquil 
emotions.  Thus  what  the  account  loses  in  plot  it  makes  up  in 
vividness  or  in  imaginative  power. 

Sections  of  discursive  narration  are  often  introduced  into  the 
midst  of  plotted  narrative,  and  have  partially  the  effect  of  an  epi- 


NARRATION.  371 

sode,  while  at  the  same  time  they  contribute  by  some  secondary 
incident  or  feature  to  the  progress  of  the  main  story. 

NOTE.  —  A  striking  instance  of  this,  though  not  purely  narrative,  is  the 
account  of  the  Battle  of  Waterloo,  in  Victor  Hugo's  "  Cosette  "  ("  Les  Mise- 
rables"),  whose  nineteen  chapters  contribute  to  the  plot  of  the  story  only  a 
single  incident,  and  that  a  minor  one.  Another  example,  illustrating  well  the 
spirited  style  of  discursive  narration,  is  the  account  of  the  boat  race,  in  "Tom 
Brown  at  Oxford,"  Chapter  XIII. 

II.    COMBINATION  OF  NARRATIVES. 

In  almost  every  narrative  work  that  is  built  on  an  extended 
scale,  history  for  example,  the  writer  has  to  meet  the  problem  how 
to  manage  concurring  streams  of  narrative,  —  a  problem  arising 
from  the  fact  that  many  incidents  taking  place  in  widely  separated 
scenes,  and  many  characters  wholly  unknown  to  each  other,  may 
yet  be  contributing  at  the  same  time  to  bring  about  a  common 
culmination  of  events. 

Synchronism  of  Events.  — This,  as  the  name  implies,  is  the 
treatment  of  events  belonging  to  different  departments  of  the  work 
in  such  a  way  that  the  reader  may  realize  that  they  are  contempo- 
raneous with  each  other,  though  in  the  narration  one  must  precede. 

There  are  several  ways  hi  which  the  events  of  different  streams 
of  narrative  may  concur.  In  fiction  the  concurrence  is  a  work  of 
pure  invention,  being  due  to  the  relations  of  interwoven  plots  to 
each  other.  Of  this  something  will  be  said  further  on.  In  history 
a  transaction  may  have  antagonistic  sides,  each  of  which,  for  com- 
pleteness, must  be  represented  in  turn ;  this  is  seen  when  opposed 
forces  engage  in  battle,  or  when  political  parties  are  arrayed  against 
each  other  in  state  policy.  A  broader  concurrence  is  seen  in  the 
different  departments  of  a  nation's  history;  as  for  instance,  its 
constitutional  history,  its  social  development,  its  religious  progress, 
its  literature ;  all  of  which,  as  they  must  be  the  material  of  narra- 
tives more  or  less  distinct,  necessitate  a  complex  point  of  view. 
Each  department  must  be  presented  both  as  it  is  in  itself,  and  as 
it  is  related  to  other  departments. 


372  NARRA  TION. 

Two  general  means  of  synchronizing  events  are  chiefly  in  use, 
which  we  may  call  the  literary  and  the  mechanical. 

i.  In  synchronizing  by  the  literary  means,  the  writer  chooses  as 
basis  of  the  whole  the  narrative  most  significant  for  his  purpose  or 
most  fruitful  in  important  events  ;  to  this  he  gives  the  fullest  move- 
ment, noting,  in  its  course  events  that  stand  out  as  important  land- 
marks for  more  than  one  department  of  the  work,  and  personages 
that  in  the  part  they  play  serve  to  connect  one  story  with  another. 
In  this  way  groundwork  is  laid  for  constructing  history  from  more 
than  one  point  of  view.  When  now  another  narrative,  contem- 
poraneous with  the  first,  is  taken  up,  it  is  constructed  as  a  kind  of 
reverse,  —  giving  in  summary  or  rapid  reference  what  the  other 
has  given  in  full,  and  enlarging  on  those  points  which  the  other 
has  designated  as  landmarks.  In  this  way  the  reader  is  kept  aware 
how  the  different  streams  of  events  touch  each  other. 

An  important  process  in  such  synchronizing  is  the  management 
of  changes  of  scene.  The  scene  should  not  be  changed  except 
at  the  significant  turning-points  of  the  history,  where  one  narrative 
can  be  trusted  to  wait  for  the  other ;  and  the  change  should  be 
distinctly  announced  as  well  as  kept  consistently  in  view. 

EXAMPLES.— i.  In  his  "  History  of  our  own  Times,"  Justin  McCarthy, 
after  having  traced  the  great  political,  social,  religious,  and  scientific  events 
of  Queen  Victoria's  reign,  thus  summarizes,  preparatory  to  giving  a  survey  of 
the  Literature  of  the  Reign :  — 

"  The  close  of  the  Crimean  War  is  a  great  landmark  in  the  reign  of  Queen 
Victoria.  This,  therefore,  is  a  convenient  opportunity  to  cast  a  glance  back 
upon  the  literary  achievements  of  a  period  so  markedly  divided  in  political 
interest  from  any  that  went  before  it.  The  reign  of  Queen  Victoria  is  the 
first  in  which  the  constitutional  and  Parliamentary  system  of  government 
came  fairly  and  completely  into  recognition.  It  is  also  the  reign  which  had 
the  good  fortune  to  witness  the  great  modern  development  in  all  that  relates 
to  practical  invention,  and  more  especially  in  the  application  of  science  to 
the  work  of  making  communication  rapid  between  men.  On  land  and  ocean, 
in  air  and  under  the  sea,  the  history  of  rapid  travel  and  rapid  interchange  of 
message  coincides  with  that  of  the  present  reign.  Such  a  reign  ought  to  have 
a  distinctive  literature.  So  in  truth  it  has.  Of  course  it  is  somewhat  bold 
to  predict  long  and  distinct  renown  for  contemporaries  or  contemporary 


NARRA  TION.  373 

schools.  But  it  may  perhaps  be  assumed  without  any  undue  amount  of 
speculative  venturesomeness  that  the  age  of  Queen  Victoria  will  stand  out  in 
history  as  the  period  of  a  literature  as  distinct  from  others  as  the  age  of 
Elizabeth  or  Anne,  although  not  perhaps  equal  in  greatness  to  the  latter,  and 
far  indeed  below  the  former." 

On  this  as  a  background,  the  great  literary  men  and  events  are  sketched 
one  by  one,  with  frequent  reference  to  the  landmarks  of  the  general  history, 
just  as  in  the  latter  there  have  been  frequent  references  to  the  literary  events 
in  their  place. 

2.  In  Carlyle's  account  of  the  Battle  of  Prag,  which  may  illustrate  what 
may  be  called  synchronism  at  close  quarters,  there  is  noticeable  care  evinced 
in  the  changes  of  scene.  It  is  from  Friedrich's  point  of  view  that  he  gives 
the  narration,  and  his  account  of  Friedrich's  preparations,  and  of  the  ground 
on  which  the  battle  is  to  be  fought,  is  given  as  seen  from  the  Prussian's  posi- 
tion. Then,  in  order  to  describe  the  Austrians'  preparation,  he  changes  scene, 
in  the  following  words :  "  Let  us  step  across,  and  take  some  survey  of  that 
Austrian  ground,  which  Friedrich  is  now  surveying  from  the  distance,  fully 
intending  that  it  shall  be  a  battle-ground  in  few  hours;  and  try  to  explain  how 
the  Austrians  drew  up  on  it,  when  they  noticed  the  Prussian  symptoms  to 
become  serious  more  and  more."  At  the  end  of  this  description  he  returns  to 
his  original  standing-point,  in  the  following  words :  "  Friedrich  surveys  dili- 
gently what  he  can  of  all  this,  from  the  northern  verge.  We  will  now  return 
to  Friedrich ;  and  will  stay  on  his  side,  through  the  terrible  Action  that  is 
coming." 

2.  Mechanical  means  of  showing  the  synchronism  of  events  are 
often  used  to  supplement  the  literary,  or  are  employed  along  with 
them.  The  chief  of  these  are  :  — 

The  careful  division  of  the  narrative  into  periods,  with  reference 
of  various  departments  to  their  proper  positions  therein. 

The  frequent  and  copious  use  of  summaries. 

The  construction  of  charts,  tabular  views,  statistics,  and  the  like, 
which  serve  to  exhibit  many  parallel  events  in  one  view. 

Interwoven  Plots. — The  name  plot  is  applied,  in  fiction  or 
the  drama,  to  the  intricate  series  of  events  that  are  to  be  unrav- 
elled, generally  by  unexpected  means,  at  the  end.  Not  often,  in 
an  extended  work,  does  such  a  series  remain  single,  or  transacted 
in  one  scene.  Incidents  and  scenes  of  subordinate  significance 
may  be  woven  in  with  the  main  thread  of  the  story ;  or  two  or 


374  NARRA  TION. 

more  equally  important  plots,  existing  at  first  side  by  side,  may 
come  to  be  gradually  incorporated  with  each  other,  until  at  the 
end  all  prove  equally  necessary  to  the  total  effect. 

NOTE.  —  An  interesting  example  of  this  latter  is  seen  in  Shakespeare's 
"  Merchant  of  Venice,"  where  the  story  of  Portia  and  the  Caskets,  and  the 
story  of  Antonio  and  Shylock  have  entirely  different  scenes  and  are  derived 
from  widely  separated  sources,  their  sole  connecting  link,  at  first,  being  the 
character  of  Bassanio.  The  money  that  he  must  borrow,  in  order  to  prosecute 
his  suit  with  Portia,  is  made  the  motif  for  interweaving  the  plots;  and  as  the 
action  progresses,  various  characters  —  Lorenzo  and  Jessica,  Gratiano  and 
Salarino,  and  Launcelot  Gobbo  —  are  transferred  from  one  scene  to  the  other, 
until  at  the  end  the  two  stories  are  equally  integral  parts  of  a  unified  whole. 

It  is  obvious  that  in  the  interweaving  of  different  threads  of 
narrative,  so  that  one  homogeneous  tissue  shall  be  produced  at  the 
end,  there  is  room  for  the  minutest  and  subtlest  skill  in  planning.1 
All  the  means  described  under  Synchronism  of  Events  are  freely 
drawn  upon  to  mark  and  emphasize  the  unity  in  diversity  mani- 
fested in  the  various  elements.  Besides  this,  there  are  to  be  noted 
two  especial  lines  in  which  constructive  skill  is  to  be  exerted. 
First,  care  is  to  be  taken  that  each  constituent  narrative  have 
features  that  give  it  a  distinctive  character,  so  that  its  agency  in 
working  out  the  whole  effect  may  be  clearly  evident.  Secondly, 
care  is  to  be  taken,  in  laying  down  one  scene  and  taking  up 
another,  to  secure  well-marked  alternations  or  contrasts  of  effect, 
so  that  the  reader's  mind  may  be  relieved  from  the  strain  of  too 
long  continuance  in  one  kind  of  thought.  A  well-managed  transi- 

1  Macaulay  applied  this  skill,  with  consummate  effect,  to  the  interweaving  of 
different  threads  of  historical  narrative.  Morison,  in  his  "  Macaulay  "  (English 
Men  of  Letters),  p.  145,  thus  describes  it:  "  In  the  '  ordering  of  parts,'  which  cost 
him  so  much  labor,  his  equal  will  not  easily  be  found.  Each  side  of  the  story  is 
brought  forward  in  its  proper  time  and  place,  and  leaves  the  stage  when  it  has 
served  its  purpose,  that  of  advancing  by  one  step  the  main  action.  Each  of  these 
subordinate  stories,  marked  by  exquisite  finish,  leads  up  to  a  minor  crisis  or  turn  in 
events,  where  it  joins  the  chief  narrative  with  a  certain  eclat  and  surprise.  The 
interweaving  of  these  well-nigh  endless  threads,  the  clearness  with  which  each  is 
kept  visible  and  distinct,  and  yet  is  made  to  contribute  its  peculiar  effect  and  color 
to  the  whole  texture,  constitute  one  of  the  great  feats  in  literature." 


NARRA  TIOM  375 

tion  from  one  narrative  to  another  has  all  the  good  effect  of  an 
episode,  without  its  disadvantages ;  see  preceding,  page  363. 

ILLUSTRATION.  —  The  main  story  of  Dickens's  "  Barnaby  Rudge "  is  a 
stormy  and  tragic  historic  event,  —  the  Gordon  Riots  of  1 780.  With  this, 
however,  is  interwoven  a  story  of  markedly  contrasted  character,  illustrating 
all  that  is  good  and  simple  and  peaceful,  as  truly  as  the  other  illustrates  the 
stormy  passions  of  men,  —  the  story,  namely,  of  Barnaby  and  his  mother. 
These  contrasted  tales  give  fine  opportunities,  of  which  the  author  is  not 
slow  to  avail  himself,  for  contrast  in  the  transitions  from  one  section  to 
another.  The  following  transition,  for  example,  follows  immediately  on  a 
scene  of  conspiracy  and  brutality:  "While  the  worst  passions  of  the  worst 
men  were  thus  working  in  the  dark,  and  the  mantle  of  religion,  assumed  to 
cover  the  ugliest  deformities,  threatened  to  become  the  shroud  of  all  that  was 
good  and  peaceful  in  society,  a  circumstance  occurred  which  once  more  altered 
the  positions  of  two  persons  from  whom  this  history  has  long  been  separated, 
and  to  whom  it  must  now  return."  These  two  persons  are  Barnaby  Rudge 
and  his  mother,  who  are  sojourning  in  a  small  country  town. 

III.    NARRATION   IN   LITERATURE. 

All  the  most  wide-spread  and  popular  forms  of  literature  have 
for  their  basis  narration  ;  which,  however,  rarely  appears  unmixed, 
but  reenforces  itself,  on  occasion,  by  other  processes  of  discourse. 
The  following,  briefly  described,  are  the  leading  forms  thus  founded 
on  narration. 

History.  —  This  is  to  be  regarded  as  first  in  importance,  be- 
cause, being  the  recounting  of  actual  events,  it  represents  the 
primitive  and  ideal  use  of  narration.  All  the  intricate  modern  art 
of  historical  composition  is  the  outcome  of  a  primitive  impulse  to 
tell  the  story  of  noteworthy  deeds. 

It  will  be  sufficient  here  to  mention  briefly  the  qualifications  of 
the  historian,  and  the  kinds  of  history. 

i.  As  to  qualifications,  the  writer  of  history  must  combine  in 
himself  two  very  distinct  characters.  "  '  Stern  Accuracy  in  inquir- 
ing, bold  Imagination  in  expounding  and  filling  up ;  these,'  says 
my  friend  Sauerteig,  '  are  the  two  pinions  on  which  history 

soars.' " 1 

1  Carlyle,  Miscellanies :  Essay  on  "  Count  Cagliostro." 


376  NARRATION. 

First,  and  long  before  he  begins  the  actual  composition,  he 
must  have  the  most  unwearied  patience  in  detail  and  investigation, 
shrinking  not  from  the  dryest  and  minutest  researches,  in  his 
determination  to  ascertain  and  verify  every  smallest  fact  that  may 
throw  light  on  his  story.  To  him  there  is  nothing  forbidding, 
nothing  unimportant ;  a  small  and  obscure  incident  may  change 
the  color  of  a  whole  epoch. 

NOTE.  —  The  tendency  to  extreme  minuteness  and  patience  in  this  respect 
is  one  of  the  characteristic  aspects  of  modern  scholarship  and  scientific  method. 
First  eminently  exemplified,  perhaps,  in  Gibbon,  it  has  become  the  necessary 
mark  of  the  standard  historian,  and  is  especially  illustrated  by  such  names  as 
Hallam,  Carlyle,  Macaulay,  Motley,  and  Bancroft. 

But  secondly,  through  all  this  unwearied  drudgery  he  must  have 
the  vision  of  a  rounded  and  readable  history,  as  the  sculptor  sees 
the  statue  in  the  stone ;  and  to  this  end  he  must  seek  by  a  vigor- 
ous and  living  imagination  to  realize  the  very  form  and  body  of 
past  events,  and  make  them  live  anew  in  the  portrayal.  The  facts 
as  he  gathers  them  are  disjointed,  vague,  orderless ;  it  is  only  by  a 
powerful  imagination  that  he  can  so  present  them  as  to  transport 
the  reader  into  the  realization  of  them. 

NOTE.  —  Macaulay  complains  that  this  art  of  moving  presentation  is  neg- 
lected in  modern  times,  as  compared  with  ancient;  and  his  efforts  in  histori- 
cal writing  were  principally  directed  to  make  history  more  readable.  His 
success  in  this  respect  was  phenomenal ;  and,  as  no  unworthy  compeers  of  his, 
may  be  mentioned  Carlyle,  in  his  way,  Motley,  and  Parkman.  It  is  to  be 
noticed  that,  in  qualifications  and  achievements  alike,  American  historians 
have  taken  a  very  eminent  position. 

2.  As  to  the  forms  that  historic  composition  may  take,  we  may 
perhaps  best  borrow  the  classification  of  De  Quincey.  "  History, 
as  a  composition,"  he  says,1  "falls  into  three  separate  arrange- 
ments, obeying  three  distinct  laws,  and  addressing  itself  to  three 
distinct  objects.  Its  first  and  humblest  office  is  to  deliver  a  naked, 
unadorned  exposition  of  public  events  and  their  circumstances. 

l  De  Quincey,  Essay  on  "  Charlemagne,"  Works,  Vol.  VI.  p.  138. 


NARRATION.  377 

This  form  of  history  may  be  styled  the  purely  Narrative;  the 
second  form  is  that  which  may  be  styled  the  Scenical ;  and  the 
third  the  Philosophic." 

Each  of  these  forms  requires  a  word  of  exposition. 

The  purely  narrative  form  of  history  is  based  on  annals  and 
chronicles.  But  while,  like  these,  it  aims  merely  to  display  the 
actual  facts  of  a  nation's  life,  it  imports  into  the  work  something 
of  the  proportion,  the  light  and  shade,  the  perspective,  that  belong 
to  a  well  invented  plot.  It  is  this  constructive  skill  that  raises  it 
from  the  mere  raw  material  to  real  history ;  makes  a  readable 
story  of  what  would  otherwise  be  the  disjecta  membra  of  a  story. 

EXAMPLES.  —  Of  this  less  pretentious  kind  of  history  examples  may  be 
found  in  Hume's  History  of  England,  Helps's  Spanish  Conquest,  and  Gold- 
smith's compilations  of  ancient  and  English  history  for  popular  use.  Of  the 
older  histories  may  be  mentioned  Clarendon's  History  of  the  Rebellion,  and 
Burnet's  History  of  my  own  Time. 

The  object  of  the  second  form,  the  scenic,  is  defined  in  the 
words  of  Macaulay,  already  quoted  on  page  211.  It  is  history 
written  with  a  view  to  vividness  ;  and  to  accomplish  this  purpose 
narration  is  combined  liberally  with  description.  "  Histories  of 
this  class,"  says  De  Quincey,  "  proceed  upon  principles  of  selec- 
tion, presupposing  in  the  reader  a  general  knowledge  of  the  great 
cardinal  incidents,  and  bringing  forward  into  especial  notice  those 
only  which  are  susceptible  of  being  treated  with  distinguished 
effect." 

EXAMPLES.  —  De  Quincey  himself  instances,  as  illustrative  of  this  class, 
Gibbon's  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire.  Other  examples  are  Car- 
lyle's  French  Revolution,  Kinglake's  Invasion  of  the  Crimea,  Macaulay's 
History  of  England,  and  the  several  histories  of  Prescott  and  Parkman. 

The  third  form,  the  philosophic,  combines  with  the  fundamental 
narrative  exposition  and  induction.  It  views  the  course  of  events 
in  the  relations  of  cause  and  effect,  and  as  subject  to  the  working 
of  ascertainable  laws  of  human  and  physical  nature.  "Under 
whatever  name,"  says  De  Quincey,  "  it  is  evident  that  philosophy, 


378  NARRATION. 

or  an  investigation  of  the  true  moving  forces  in  every  great  train 
and  sequence  of  national  events,  and  an  exhibition  of  the  motives 
and  the  moral  consequences  in  their  largest  extent  which  have 
concurred  with  these  events,  cannot  be  omitted  in  any  history 
above  the  level  of  a  childish  understanding."  This  manner  of 
treating  history,  as  Macaulay  has  pointed  out,  is  distinctively 
the  modern  manner ;  and  the  present  prevalence  of  the  scientific 
method  in  all  departments  of  study  has  greatly  enhanced  the 
esteem  in  which  it  is  held.  A  favorite  definition  of  history  is, 
"  philosophy  teaching  by  example." 

EXAMPLES.  —  Of  historic  works  eminently  philosophic  may  be  mentioned 
Buckle's  History  of  Civilization,  Lecky's  History  of  European  Morals,  and 
Hallam's  Constitutional  History  of  England.  Works  combining  the  narrative 
and  scenic  with  the  philosophic  are  Green's  History  of  the  English  People, 
Bancroft's  History  of  the  United  States,  and  Motley's  History  of  the  Rise  of 
the  Dutch  Republic. 

Biography.  —  This  is  closely  connected  with  history,  and  calls 
for  the  same  qualifications.  It  is  one  of  the  most  valued,  as  well 
as  one  of  the  most  instructive,  forms  of  literature.  "I  have 
remarked,"  says  Carlyle,1  "  that  a  true  delineation  of  the  smallest 
man,  and  his  scene  of  pilgrimage  through  life,  is  capable  of  inter- 
esting the  greatest  man;  that  all  men  are  to  an  unspeakable 
degree  brothers,  each  man's  life  a  strange  emblem  of  every  man's ; 
and  that  Human  Portraits,  faithfully  drawn,  are  of  all  pictures  the 
welcomest  on  human  walls." 

Two  principal  methods  of  constructing  biography  are  to  be 
noted. 

i .  Corresponding  best,  perhaps,  with  its  original  idea,  biography 
may  be  written  as  an  account  of  the  subject's  life  in  the  author's 
own  words  throughout,  and  embodying  his  judgments  of  the  sub- 
ject's character  and  achievements.  This  manner  of  treatment  is 
most  favorable  to  making  a  homogeneous  work  of  art,  and  gives 
best  opportunity  for  a  skillful  narrative.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is 

1  Carlyle,  "  Life  of  Sterling,"  Chap.  I. 


NARRATION.  379 

liable  to  become  either  over-eulogistic  or  over- critical,  being  sub- 
ject to  the  author's  errors  of  judgment  or  inability  rightly  to  esti- 
mate his  subject's  character  and  motives.  To  execute  both  sides 
fairly  and  successfully,  therefore,  is  an  achievement  reserved  for 
the  few  masters  in  this  work. 

EXAMPLES.  —  This  treatment  of  biography  is  exemplified,  with  greater  or 
less  success  in  Plutarch's  Lives,  Johnson's  Lives  of  the  Poets,. Carlyle's  Life 
of  Sterling,  and  Lewes's  Life  of  Goethe. 

Our  literature  contains  also  some  notable  autobiographies,  among  which 
may  be  mentioned  Gibbon's  Autobiography,  Franklin's  Autobiography,  and 
'the  Personal  Memoirs  of  General  Grant. 

2.  The  modern  ideal  of  biography,  however,  requires  that  the 
writer  efface  himself  as  far  as  possible,  and  employ  all  means  for 
making  the  subject  tell  his  own  story;  and  to  this  end  much 
prominence  is  given  to  letters,  journals,  conversations,  and  the 
like.  Such  biography  gains  in  permitting  the  subject  to  portray 
his  own  inner  life.  It  suffers  correspondingly  in  being  less  homo- 
geneous, and  generally  in  including  much  that  is  of  very  subordi- 
nate interest.  It  imposes  also  a  very  delicate  task  on  the  writer's 
taste,  in  excluding  what  would  give  offence,  or  what  would  present 
the  subject  in  an  unjust  or  unfortunate  light. 

EXAMPLES.  —  In  biographies  of  this  class  our  literature  is  rich,  and  the 
number  of  creditable  performances  in  this  kind  of  writing  is  rapidly  increas- 
ing. The  most  noteworthy  ones  are  :  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson,  Lockhart's 
Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Trevelyan's  Life  of  Macaulay,  and  Stanley's  Life  of 
Dr.  Arnold. 

A  modification  of  this  latter  method  of  writing  biography  has 
recently  been  attempted  by  Mr.  J.  W.  Cross,  in  his  life  of  George 
Eliot  (Marian  Evans  Cross)  ;  which  is  little  more  than  a  mosaic 
of  extracts  from  her  letters  and  journals,  pieced  together  so  as  to 
form,  as  nearly  as  may  be,  a  continuous  narrative.  It  is  ingenious, 
but  its  success  is  problematical. 

Fiction.  —  Under  this  head  are  included  all  the  varieties  of 
purely  invented  narrative,  narrative  free  to  construct  and  modify 


380  NARRA  TION. 

its  own  plan,  according  to  the  requirements  of  an  effective  plot. 
The  laws  of  fiction  are  much  discussed  nowadays ;  in  the  present 
brief  glance  it  will  be  sufficient  to  speak  of  the  nature  of  the 
work  and  of  its  main  divisions. 

i.  As  to  the  nature  of  the  work,  fiction  has  its  peculiar  liberties 
and  limitations,  which  must  be  borne  in  mind. 

The  liberties  of  fiction  inhere  with  the  fact  that  it  is  written  for 
effect.  According  to  its  object,  —  which  may  be  merely  to  enter- 
tain, as  in  the  ordinary  novel,  to  teach  some  lesson,  or  advocate 
some  cause,  as  in  the  didactic  novel,  to  portray  the  depths  of 
character,  as  in  the  psychological  novel,  —  it  is  free  to  construct 
such  a  story  as  will  embody  its  conception,  and  to  group  the 
parts  by  historical  perspective  so  as  to  lay  the  stress  on  what  is 
important  to  its  end.  There  are  no  actual  facts  to  stand  in  its 
way,  by  compelling  insertion  or  omission ;  it  is  the  story-teller's 
world,  which  he  is  at  liberty  to  create  and  people  according  to 
laws  of  its  own. 

At  the  same  time  fiction  has  its  limitations.  It  must  preserve 
verisimilitude ;  and  to  this  end  it  must  deal  not  with  the  excep- 
tional but  with  the  probable.  The  maxim  that  "  truth  is  stranger 
than  fiction  "  is  no  epigram  but  a  literal  fact ;  and  there  are  many 
things  in  actual  experience  too  strange  to  be  tolerated  in  an  in- 
vented story.1  Fiction  can  incorporate  only  what,  under  given 
circumstances,  we  feel  might  be  true ;  the  monstrous,  the  lusus 
natures  or  lusus  historic,  must  be  left  to  that  exceptional  region 
—  the  actual  —  where  alone  they  occur.  Otherwise  it  cannot  be 
recognized  that  the  story  is  consistent  with  itself;  it  does  not  obey 
the  laws  that  the  human  mind  is  used  to. 

1  "  The  common  saying  that  truth  is  stranger  than  fiction  should  properly  be 
expressed  as  an  axiom  that  fiction  ought  not  to  be  so  strange  as  truth.  A  marvel- 
lous event  is  interesting  in  real  life,  simply  because  we  know  that  it  happened.  In 
a  fiction  we  know  that  it  did  not  happen ;  and  therefore  it  is  interesting  only  as  far 
as  it  is  explained.  Anybody  can  invent  a  giant  or  a  genius  by  the  simple  process  of 
altering  figures  or  piling  up  superlatives.  The  artist  has  to  make  the  existence 
of  the  giant  or  the  genius  conceivable." — Leslie  Stephen,  "Hours  in  a  Library," 
First  Series,  p.  256. 


NARRATION.  381 

2.  As  to  the  main  divisions  of  fiction,  we  will  here  notice  merely 
its  two  cardinal  aspects,  the  romance  and  the  novel. 

Romance  obeys  the  tendency  to  emphasize  the  liberties  of  fic- 
tion. It  deals  with  scenes  and  events  outside  the  sphere  of 
commonplace  life,  —  with  adventure,  mystery,  striking  contrasts, 
surprising  incident ;  —  or  if  with  common  scenes,  it  seeks  to  invest 
them  with  a  hue  and  picturesqueness  not  of  our  everyday  existence. 
It  is  generally  concerned  not  so  much  with  minute  shades  of  char- 
acter and  motive  as  with  the  more  violent  and  elementary  passions, 
—  love,  revenge,  jealousy,  hatred,  self-sacrificing  courage.  It  is 
the  result  of  an  endeavor  to  create  an  imagined  world  more  inter- 
esting and  more  striking  than  our  common  round  of  experience. 

EXAMPLES.  —  Scott's  "Ivanhoe,"  Cervantes'  "Don  Quixote,"  Bulwer's 
"  Last  Days  of  Pompeii,"  Victor  Hugo's  "  Les  Miserables."  Examples  of 
stories  made  romantic  by  poetic  treatment  of  common  scenes,  are  found  in 
Hawthorne's  "  Scarlet  Letter,"  "  House  of  Seven  Gables,"  and  "  Marble 
Faun."  In  the  preface  to  "The  House  of  Seven  Gables"  are  some  interest- 
ing remarks  on  Romance. 

The  novel  holds  itself  more  strictly  inside  the  limitations  of 
fiction.  Confining  itself  to  the  characters  and  manners  of  ordinary 
life,  it  aims  merely  "  to  hold  the  mirror  up  to  nature,"  so  that  each 
reader  may  see  reflected  therein  something  parallel  to  his  own 
experience.  It  is  often  concerned  with  finer  shadings  and  traits 
of  character  than  the  romance  exhibits ;  and  these  it  finds  in  such 
histories  as  are  passing  every  day  all  around  us. 

EXAMPLES.  —  George  Eliot's  "Adam  Bede"  and  "Mill  on  the  Floss"; 
Thackeray's  "Vanity  Fair"  and  "The  Newcomes";  Howell's  "  Rise  of  Silas 
Lapham."  The  tendency  at  present  is  more  to  novel  than  to  romance. 

Drama.  —  This  is  to  be  regarded  as  narrative  wherein  the  char- 
acters speak  for  themselves,  making  the  story,  as  it  were,  before 
our  eyes ;  while  all  the  descriptive  background  is  portrayed  by 
means  of  scenery,  or  incidentally  through  the  action  and  dialogue. 

The  plot  of  the  drama  must  be  more  rigorous  and  strictly  pro- 
gressive, less  tolerant  of  episodes,  than  that  of  any  other  form  of 


382  NARRA  TION. 

story.  Every  part  must  contribute  clearly  and  obviously  to  the 
completed  whole,  and  the  action  must  keep  moving.  The  pas- 
sions and  characters,  moreover,  must  be  more  sharply  defined 
and  manifest  themselves  by  more  pointed  language  than  in  the 
novel,  partly  because  the  spoken  style  demands  it,  and  partly 
because  they  have  not  the  benefit  of  the  author's  interpretative 
comments  but  must  reveal  themselves  entirely  through  their  own 
words. 

Further,  the  drama  must  make  obvious  to  its  audience  the  con- 
stant working  of  cause  to  effect.  It  is  not  sufficient  that  an  event 
occur ;  we  must  be  able  to  see  what  previous  conditions  or  cir- 
cumstances brought  it  about.  Consequently  the  element  of  acci- 
dent is  excluded  from  the  drama ;  any  event,  to  be  dramatic, 
must  have  its  cause,  whether  intended  or  not,  in  some  way  indi- 
cated before  our  eyes.1 

1  For  some  very  suggestive  remarks  on  the  distinctions  between  the  novel  and 
the  drama,  see  Bulwer-Lytton,  "  Pamphlets  and  Sketches,"  pp.  343-352. 


EXPOSITION.  383 


CHAPTER  VI. 

INVENTION    DEALING    WITH    GENERALIZATIONS: 
EXPOSITION. 

To  describe  objects  seen  and  heard,  or  to  recount  occurrences, 
is  indeed  man's  most  primitive  and  spontaneous  literary  impulse ; 
but  for  the  thinking  mind  the  observation  therein  involved  natu- 
rally becomes  the  basis  of  something  deeper.  From  the  percep- 
tion of  individual  things,  the  mind  readily  advances  to  the  thought 
of  classes  of  things  :  detecting  throughout  the  world  resemblances 
and  contrasts,  laws  and  principles,  causes  and  effects,  it  begins  to 
group  things  together,  to  generalize,  to  discover  qualities  essen- 
tial and  qualities  accidental,  to  form,  in  a  word,  scientific  concep- 
tions of  things.  Thus  is  opened  the  field  of  notions  or  generalized 
ideas,  ideas  to  be  identified,  defined,  classified ;  and  the  various 
processes  employed  to  set  such  matter  forth  in  literary  form  are 
included  under  the  term  Exposition. 

The  broad  scope  of  literary  exposition  is  not  unjustly  indicated 
in  the  derivation  of  the  term  and  in  ordinary  popular  usage.  By 
exposition  people  generally  understand  setting  forth  the  meaning 
of  things ;  and  this  we  may  regard  as  its  fundamental  office.  It 
is  not  concerned  primarily  with  establishing  the  truth  or  falsity 
of  a  thing ;  it  seeks  rather  what  the  thing  is,  —  what  is  its  real 
nature,  its  scope,  its  relations.  Exposition  is  thus  the  handmaid 
of  all  accurate  and  clearly-cut  thought.  The  remark  is  often  made 
of  disputants  that  they  could  soon  come  to  agreement  if  they 
would  define  their  terms  :  exposition  devotes  itself  to  the  business 
of  defining  terms,  or  rather,  more  broadly,  of  defining  and  other- 
wise exhibiting  ideas,  as  generalized  in  the  mind. 

Such  work  as  this  underlies  the  whole  field  of  serious  and  stren- 
uous thought,  as  manifested  in  science  and  didactic  writing ;  the 


384  EXPOSITION. 

field  in  which  the  human  mind  makes  its  most  difficult  yet  most 
glorious  achievements.  And  it  is  safe  to  say  that  the  glory  gained 
and  the  difficulty  overcome  are  commensurate  with  the  power 
evinced  in  the  mastery  of  the  few  elements  that  lie  at  the  founda- 
tion of  exposition. 

Let  us  therefore  first  investigate  these  elements ;  and  afterwards 
we  will  see  how  exposition  appears  in  literature. 

I.    EXPOSITION   IN   ITS   ELEMENTS. 

However  elaborate  its  literary  form  and  setting,  the  value  of  an 
exposition  is  peculiarly  dependent  on  strenuous  fidelity  to  its 
simplest  and  most  fundamental  elements.  Anything  that  disguises 
or  obscures  these,  whatever  its  graces  otherwise,  is  but  worthless 
and  misleading.  The  keynote  of  good  exposition,  we  may  say,  is 
plainness,  clearness,  simplicity ;  we  cannot  afford,  by  any  literary 
device,  to  cover  up  these  qualities. 

I. 

The  Object  Expounded.  —  Exposition,  as  intimated  above,  is 
invention  dealing  with  ideas  or  generalizations.  The  distinctive 
character  of  such  material,  and  the  literary  procedure  necessitated 
in  treating  it,  require  at  the  outset  some  explanation. 

i.  A  generalized  object  is  an  object  regarded  as  representative 
of  a  class ;  the  contemplation  of  which  therefore  includes  merely 
such  features  as  are  common  to  all  objects  bearing  that  name. 
Our  notion  of  an  animal,  for  instance,  is  concerned  only  with  such 
qualities  as  are  essential  to  every  animal,  whether  an  elephant  or 
an  eagle  or  a  crawfish,  whether  in  America  or  in  Borneo  ;  the  quali- 
ties of  organism,  life,  sensation,  voluntary  motion,  must  be  as  true 
of  one  as  of  another.  A  particular  or  individual  object,  on  the 
other  hand,  takes  the  class  characteristics  for  granted ;  the  name 
is  sufficient  to  indicate  these ;  while  we  merely  contemplate  its 
individual  features.  We  know  without  stopping  to  think  that  the 


EXPOSITION.  385 

State- House  at  Boston  contains  all  the  qualities  belonging  essen- 
tially to  the  notion  house ;  but  as  it  is  an  individual  object,  we  are 
concerned  merely  with  those  peculiarities,  architectural  and  other, 
that  make  it  unique.  In  the  treatment  of  these  two  classes  of 
objects,  therefore,  we  pursue  courses  exactly  opposite.  A  partic- 
ular object  or  event,  which  is  the  subject  of  description  or  narra- 
tion, we  portray  by  singling  out  the  features  wherein  it  is  most 
unlike  every  other;  a  generalized  object,  which  is  the  subject 
of  exposition,  we  set  forth  by  naming  the  features  wherein  all 
individuals  of  its  class  are  alike. 

EXAMPLES  OF  CONTRASTED  TREATMENT.  —  The  difference  of  procedure  in 
the  cases  of  description  and  exposition  may  be  illustrated  by  the  following 
extracts,  which  both  deal  with  the  same  object,  —  the  one  as  an  individual, 
the  other  as  a  notion. 

1.  In  Tennyson's  "  Merlin  and  Vivien,"  an  oak  is  thus  described:  — 

"  A  storm  was  coming,  but  the  winds  were  still, 
And  in  the  wild  wood  of  Broceliande, 
Before  an  oak,  so  hollow,  huge,  and  old 
It  look'd  a  tower  of  ruin'd  mason-work, 
At  Merlin's  feet  the  wily  Vivien  lay." 

Here  the  qualities  named  are  indeed  true  of  some  oaks,  but  not  necessarily 
true;  an  oak  is  just  as  truly  an  oak  if  it  is  neither  hollow  nor  huge  nor  old. 

2.  Compare  with   this    the   following  from  an   encyclopaedia  article   on 
the  oak : — 

"Most  of  the  trees  belonging  to  the  oak  family  are  remarkable  for  their 
thick  and  rugged  bark  and  for  the  great  abundance  of  tannin  which  it  con- 
tains. They  have  large  and  strong  roots,  penetrating  very  deeply  or  extend- 
ing very  far  horizontally.  The  trunks  are  distinguished  for  their  massiveness, 
and  for  the  weight,  strength,  and  in  most  cases,  the  durability  of  their  wood. 
Their  branches  are  strong  and  irregular,  and  form  a  broad  head.  The  buds 
are  fitted  for  a  climate  with  severe  winters,  the  plaited  or  folded  leaves  being 
covered  by  imbricate  external  scales,  and  often  still  further  protected  by  a  sep- 
arate downy  scale  surrounding  each  separate  leaf.  The  leaves  are  plane  and 
alternate,  and  usually  supported  by  a  footstalk,  at  the  base  of  which  are  two 
slender  scales  or  stipules,  which  for  the  most  part  fall  off  as  the  leaf  expands." 

Here  the  information  given  is  merely  such  as  can  be  predicated  of  any 
and  every  oak-tree;  it  must  be  like  this  to  be  an  oak. 


386  EXPOSITION. 

2.  Objects  exist  in  nature  only  as  individuals;  the  generaliza- 
tion, which  groups  different  objects  by  like  characteristics,  thus 
including  many  under  one  name,  is  in  reality  a  creation  of  the 
human  mind,  and  owes  its  completeness  to  the  observer's  acumen 
and  thoroughness.     It  is  not  meant  by  this  that  generalization  is 
an  uncertain  or  arbitrary  process.    The  qualities  and  resemblances 
from  which  it  is  made  up  really  exist,  and  it  is  a  real  interpretation 
of  what  is  in  the  nature  of  things.     Only  we  are  to  remember 
that  in  exposition  we  are  dealing  not  with  an  object  whose  parts 
and  peculiarities  are  displayed  in  space  before  us,  as  in  descrip- 
tion ;  nor  with  an  event,  whose  incidents  succeed  each  other  in 
time,  as   in  narration;   but   with   a   man-made   concept,   whose 
aspects  and  divisions  are  discerned  by  the  laws  of  thought  and 
association  that  exist  in  human  minds.     By  as  much,  then,  as  the 
object  fails  to  suggest  its  own  plan  of  treatment,  by  so  much  it  is 
incumbent  on  the  writer  to  take  the  more  pains  that  his  presenta- 
tion be  well  articulated,  distinctly  marked,  adapted   to   average 
minds. 

3.  An  object  to  be  expounded  expresses  either  an  idea  or  the 
relation   between   ideas.     Hence   its  form  is  either  a  term  or  a 
proposition.     Though  exposition  may  be  applied  to  any  object,  — 
an  object  described,  or  an  event  narrated,  as  well  as  an  object 
thought,  —  yet  in  its  state  as  a  concept   or  generalization,  the 
object  must  be  reduced  to  one  of  these  forms ;   it  must  either 
name  an  idea,  or  make  an  assertion  regarding  it. 

EXAMPLES. —  I.  Of  terms.  Scientific  terms  and  subjects,  as  gravitation, 
evolution,  law,  polity,  biology,  psychology,  eschatology ;  multitudes  of  terms 
used  in  common  discussion,  as  nature,  art,  literature,  criticism,  public  opinion, 
reform,  common-sense,  culture,  orthodoxy.  Many  of  these  terms  are  too 
vaguely  used  on  account  of  the  lack  of  careful  and  sharp  exposition. 

2.  Of  propositions.  Many  of  the  maxims,  proverbs,  and  terse  assertions 
in  frequent  use  are  subject  to  exposition  as  well  as  argument;  that  is,  their 
meaning  and  scope,  as  well  as  their  truth  or  error,  require  to  be  established. 
For  instance:  "Curiosity  is  but  vanity";  "the  poet  is  born,  not  made";  "  the 
style  is  the  man  " ;  "  no  man  is  a  hero  to  his  valet."  Indeed,  it  may  be  said 
that  every  proposition  needs  to  be  examined  as  to  its  meaning  before  it  is 


EXPOSITION.  387 

tested  as  to  its  truth;  this  is  the  first  logical  step.  Under  this  head  are  to  be 
reckoned  the  texts  of  sermons,  which  are  taken  as  embodying  some  moral 
idea  or  lesson  to  be  expounded. 

All  exposition,  whether  of  terms  or  of  propositions,  may  be 
reduced  fundamentally  to  two  processes :  analysis  of  ideas  as  to 
their  depth  or  intension ;  and  analysis  of  ideas  as  to  their  breadth 
or  extension. 

II. 

Exposition  Intensive,  or  Definition.  —  Adopting  the  broad 
meaning  suggested  in  the  derivation  of  the  word,  we  may  say  that 
to  define  a  thing  is  to  determine  its  limits  (fines)  ;  and  it  is  in 
this  broad  sense  that  the  process  of  definition  is  here  regarded  as 
one  of  the  fundamental  instruments  of  exposition.  Whatever  goes 
to  determine  in  language  the  limits  of  an  idea,  whether  it  be  strict 
logical  definition  or  the  literary  figures  and  illustrations  that  serve 
to  make  those  limits  clear  to  ordinary  minds,  belongs  in  the  large 
sense  to  the  definition  of  the  idea. 

Such  definition  may  be  called  exposition  intensive ;  the  kind  of 
exposition,  that  is,  in  which  the  meaning  of  the  idea  is  determined 
in  the  direction  of  its  depth,  —  what  the  idea  intrinsically  signifies 
as  one  of  a  class,  rather  than  how  extended  is  its  application  as  a 
class  in  itself.  Thus,  in  expounding  intensively  the  term  litera- 
ture, we  define  what  literature  of  any  and  every  sort  is,  without 
reference  to  the  question  how  many  kinds  of  literature  there  are. 

Let  us  first  see  what  definition  is  in  its  narrowest  and  rigidest 
use  ;  for  it  is  this  kind  of  definition  that  should  underlie  and  inform 
every  effort  to  expound  ideas. 

Logical  Definition.  —  By  this  is  meant  a  concise  statement  of 
the  character  or  characters  most  essential  to  an  object.  In  its 
strict  construction  it  is  reducible  to  two  processes  :  first,  identify- 
ing its  object  with  a  class  of  objects,  which  class  is  technically 
called  the  genus  ;  and  secondly,  determining  the  object's  particu- 
lar place  in  the  class,  which  distinctive  character  is  called  the 
differentia. 


388 


EXPOSITION, 


EXAMPLES.  —  When  we  define  a  circle  as  "  a  plane  figure  contained  by  one 
line  everywhere  equidistant  from  a  point  within  called  the  centre,"  we  first 
identify  it  with  the  class  of  plane  figures,  and  then  we  determine  its  place  in 
that  class  by  the  characteristic  that  the  line  by  which  it  is  bounded  is  at  every 
point  equidistant  from  a  point  within,  —  a  characteristic  that  no  other  plane 
figure  possesses. 

Let  us  test  a  few  other  definitions  by  the  same  analysis :  — 


ELASTICITY  is 

LITERATURE  is 

MATHEMATICS  is 

FAITH  is 


Genus, 
the  power  of  bodies 

the  written  record  of  valu- 
able thought 
the  science 
certitude 


Differentia. 

to  recover  their  form  after 
compression. 

having  other  than  merely 
practical  purposes. 

of  quantity. 

with  respect  to  matters  in 
which  verification  is  un- 
attainable. 


Such  are  logical  definitions  ;  but  also  the  more  extended  and  literary  defi- 
nitions are  generally  capable  of  the  same  analysis  by  genus  and  differentia ; 
take  for  example  the  following  from  E.  J.  Payne  :  — 


"  By  CONSERVATISM 
is  meant 


that  preference  for  and  in- 
dulgence to 
that  faith  in 
and  that  distrust  of 


what  is  already  established, 


what  has  been  tried, 
what  exists  only  in  specula- 
tion, 

which  never  wholly  forsakes  every  sound  politician,  of 
whatever  party." 


The  three  necessary  requisites  of  a  logical  definition  are :  that 
it  should  cover  all  cases  or  individuals  of  the  idea  defined ;  that  it 
should  exclude  all  objects  not  bearing  the  same  name  ;  and  that  it 
should  be  expressed  in  terms  simpler  and  less  obscure  than  the  term 
that  designates  the  defined  object.  To  these  should  ordinarily 
be  added,  as  a  secondary  requisite,  brevity :  that  is,  the  expositor 
should  endeavor  to  name  the  smallest  number  of  attributes  that 
will  be  adequate  to  make  the  idea  intelligible,  and  these  should 
be  the  most  essential,  most  characteristic  possible.  To  this  end 
the  writer  needs  to  test  his  definition  in  every  available  aspect. 


EXPOSITION.  389 

Nothing  in  literature  is  more  difficult  to  originate  than  an  accu- 
rate definition.  For  this  reason  a  good  definition  is  one  of  the  most 
valued  achievements  of  thought ;  an  achievement  that,  according 
to  its  excellence,  takes  its  place  at  once  in  the  standard  currency 
of  thinking  minds.  And  many  of  the  most  familiar  conceptions, 
though  they  are  perfectly  well  known  and  felt,  and  though  the 
greatest  intellects  have  attempted  to  reduce  them  to  strict  limits, 
have  to  be  acknowledged  as  indefinable. 

NOTE.  —  Among  these  last  mentioned  are  such  concepts  as  poetry,  inspira- 
tion, revelation,  eloquence.  They  are  the  despair  of  logical  definers,  not 
because  their  terms  are  vague,  but  because  they  are  so  complex  and  contain 
so  much  suggestion. 

A  felicitous  definition  may  become  famous  and  make  its  author  famous. 
Such  is  Buffon's  epigrammatic  definition  of  style,  "  The  style  is  the  man  him- 
self," and  Dean  Swift's  definition  of  it  as  "  proper  words  in  proper  places." 
Nothing  is  said  here,  by  the  way,  of  the  adequacy  of  these  definitions,  —  only 
of  their  celebrity,  Such  also  is  Matthew  Arnold's  definition  of  criticism,  "  a 
disinterested  endeavor  to  learn  and  propagate  the  best  that  is  known  and 
thought  in  the  world";  and  his  definition  of  his  concept  of  God  as  "the 
enduring  power  not  ourselves,  which  makes  for  righteousness."  Such  dicta 
become  the  centres  of  much  discussion  for  and  against.  Matthew  Arnold's 
writings,  it  may  here  be  said,  are  especially  stimulating  in  the  quality  of  clearly 
cut  and  closely  discriminated  thinking;  he  has  a  defining  mind. 

The  Definition  Amplified.  —  For  literary  and  popular  purposes 
logical  definition  is  only  the  nucleus  of  intensive  exposition.  Im- 
portant though  it  is,  it  is  too  severe  and  compact  to  be  impres- 
sive ;  it  has  ordinarily  to  be  prepared  for  or  supplemented  by 
some  amplifying  matter  that  may  serve  to  detain  the  reader's  mind 
upon  it,  and  direct  his  attention  to  its  various  aspects.  The 
following  are  the  principal  ways  in  which  the  definition  may  be 
amplified. 

i.  By  exegesis  of  terms.  The  most  natural  way,  perhaps,  to 
get  at  the  exact  significance  of  an  idea  is  to  examine  the  terms  in 
which  it  is  expressed.  This  is  an  important  preliminary  to  defini- 
tion. According  to  the  light  that  such  study  will  throw  upon  the 
discussion,  the  word  is  examined  as  to  its  derivation  and  history ; 


390  EXPOSITION. 

or  compared  with  other  terms,  synonymous  or  contrasted ;  or 
freed  from  any  ambiguities  or  vaguenesses  of  use  into  which  it 
may  have  fallen. 

EXAMPLES.  —  I .  In  the  following,  Professor  Shairp  arrives  at  the  definition 
of  Culture  by  first  examining  the  term,  and  comparing  various  words  that 
designate  the  idea :  — 

"  But  what  do  we  mean  by  this  fine  word  Culture,  so  much  in  vogue  at 
present  ?  What  the  Greeks  naturally  expressed  by  their  iratdeia,  the  Romans 
by  their  humanitas,  we  less  happily  try  to  express  by  the  more  artificial  word 
Culture.  The  use  of  it  in  its  present  sense  is,  as  far  as  I  know,  recent  in  our 
language,  forced  upon  us,  I  suppose,  by  the  German  talk  about  '  Bildung.' 
And  the  shifts  we  have  been  put  to,  to  render  that  German  word,  seem  to  show 
that  the  thing  is  with  us  something  of  an  exotic,  rather  than  native  to  the  soil. 
When  applied  to  the  human  being,  it  means,  I  suppose,  the  '  educing  or 
drawing  forth  all  that  is  potentially  in  a  man,'  the  training  all  the  energies  and 
capacities  of  his  being  to  the  highest  pitch,  and  directing  them  to  their  true 
ends." 

2.  The  following,  from  Matthew  Arnold,  is  a  kind  of  swift  glance  at  expo- 
sition, suggested  by  the  derivation  of  the  italicized  word :  — 

"  For,  not  having  the  lucidity  of  a  large  and  centrally  placed  intelligence, 
the  provincial  spirit  has  not  its  graciousness;  it  does  not  persuade,  it  makes 
war;  it  has  not  urbanity,  the  tone  of  the  city,  of  the  centre,  the  tone  which 
always  aims  at  a  spiritual  and  intellectual  effect,  and  not  excluding  the  use  of 
banter,  never  disjoins  banter  itself  from  politeness,  from  felicity." 

3.  In  the  definition  of  Faith  given  on  page  388  above,  much  depends  on 
rightly  discriminating  between  the  word  certitude  and  the  almost  synonymous 
word  certainty.     "  Certitude  is  distinguished  from  certainty  as  subjective  from 
objective.     '  Certitude,'  says  Cardinal  Newman,  '  is  a  state  of  mind  :  certainty 
is  a  quality  of  propositions.'  "     When  therefore  we  say  that '  faith  is  certitude 
with  respect  to  matters  in  which  verification  is  unattainable,'  we  need  to  be 
sure  we  have  the  right  conception  of  this  defining  term. 

2.  By  following  out  at  length,  with  such  explication  as  is 
needed,  the  various  parts  and  statements  of  the  definition. 
Some  of  its  terms,  though  the  most  exact,  contain  their  meaning 
in  so  condensed  form  that  attention  has  to  be  directed  to  what 
they  imply  and  involve ;  and  its  more  important  statements  may 
have  to  be  dwelt  upon  in  order  that  their  significance  as  related 
to  the  rest  may  be  brought  out. 


EXPOSITION.  391 

EXAMPLES.  —  A  striking  example  of  a  definition  thus  amplified  is  the  para- 
graph on  the  grand  style  in  poetry,  quoted  from  Matthew  Arnold  on  page  201 
above.  The  definition  is  taken  up  in  regular  order  point  by  point,  and  either 
defined  more  closely  or  emphasized  by  iteration. 

Several  examples  of  such  explication  occur  also  in  this  book ;  see,  for 
instance,  the  definition  of  Description,  with  the  remarks  thereon,  page  326. 

3.  By  logical  description.  By  this  is  meant  portrayal  of  a  gen- 
eralized object  by  giving  more  qualities  and  characteristics  than 
are  strictly  necessary  to  determine  its  class  and  nature.  It  is 
distinguished  from  ordinary  description  in  that  it  gives  general 
characteristics  instead  of  individual ;  and  it  is  distinguished  from 
logical  definition  in  that  it  gives  "a  characteristic  and  derived 
property,  not  a  generating  and  primitive  one." 

EXAMPLES.  —  Logical  description  can  best  be  exemplified  by  comparing  it 
with  a  definition.  Take  for  instance  the  scientific  definition  of  a  steam-engine 
which  gives  only  its  essential  character,  and  put  by  the  side  of  it  a  description, 
which,  while  culminating  in  the-  same  essential  feature,  gives  more  easily 
understood  and  interesting  characteristics  :  — 

Definition:  "A  steam-engine  Description  :  "The  name  steam-engine  to 
is  a  machine  in  which  the  elas-  most  persons  brings  the  idea  of  a  machine 
tic  force  of  steam  is  the  motive  of  the  most  complex  nature,  and  hence  to 
power."  —  Gage,  be  understood  only  by  those  who  will  devote 

much  time  to  the  study  of  it;  but  he  that 
can  understand  a  common  pump  may  under- 
stand a  steam-engine.  It  is,  in  fact,  only  a 
pump  in  which  the  fluid  passing  through  it 
is  made  to  impel  the  piston  instead  of  being 
impelled  by  it,  that  is  to  say,  in  which  the 
fluid  acts  as  the  power,  instead  of  being  the 
resistance."  —  Arnott. 

Such  description  is  much  employed  in  the  sciences,  to  supplement  and 
follow  out  in  detail  the  definitions  on  which  science  must  be  based.  In  popu- 
lar language,  too,  description  takes  the  place  often  of  definition :  the  follow- 
ing, for  instance,  is  quoted  from  a  prayer-meeting  speech :  "  This  is  not  a 
definition  of  prayer,  but  it  is  a  most  fitting  and  blessed  description  of  it  —  to 
say  that  it  is  talking  with  the  risen  Jesus."  Similarly,  it  is  description  and  not 
definition  when  Emerson  says  that  eloquence  is  "  a  taking  sovereign  posses- 
sion of  the  audience." 


392  EXPOSITION. 

Besides  the  logical  definition,  with  its  accessories  of  amplifica- 
tion, several  other  processes  belonging  to  definition  in  the  broad 
sense  need  here  to  be  explained  and  exemplified. 

Exposition  by  Antithesis.  —  One  of  the  most  effectual  means 
of  fixing  the  exact  limits  and  fine  distinctions  of  an  idea  is  to 
compare  it  with  some  idea  closely  related,  either  in  likeness  or 
contrast.  The  ideas  thus  compared  may  or  may  not  be  in  actual 
opposition  to  each  other;  indeed,  they  may  coincide  in  almost 
every  point.  The  aim  of  the  comparison,  however,  is  to  find  the 
point  where  they  are  in  antithesis,  which  point  will  be  found  to 
contain  the  most  distinctive  feature  of  each. 

EXAMPLES.  —  i .  That  ideas  almost  synonymous  may  have  some  point  of 
complete  antithesis  is  shown  in  the  two  ideas  certitude  and  certainly,  which 
have  already  been  discriminated  as  subjective  and  objective. 

2.  The  following,  from  John  Stuart  Mill,  reduces  the  distinction  between 
poetry  and  eloquence  to  a  serviceable  antithesis :  — 

"  Poetry  and  eloquence  are  both  alike  the  expression  or  utterance  of  feel- 
ing :  but,  if  we  may  be  excused  the  antithesis,  we  should  say  that  eloquence 
is  heard,  poetry  is  overheard.  Eloquence  supposes  an  audience.  The  pecu- 
liarity of  poetry  appears  to  lie  in  the  poet's  utter  unconsciousness  of  a  listener. 
Poetry  is  feeling  confessing  itself  to  itself  in  moments  of  solitude,  and  embody- 
ing itself  in  symbols  which  are  the  nearest  possible  representations  of  the 
feeling  in  the  exact  shape  in  which  it  exists  in  the  poet's  mind.  Eloquence  is 
feeling  pouring  itself  out  to  other  minds,  courting  their  sympathy,  or  endeav- 
oring to  influence  their  belief,  or  move  them  to  passion  or  to  action." 

3.  The  following,  from  Dr.  Horace  Bushnell,  shows  by  a  skillful  exegesis 
of  terms  that  happiness  and  joy,  though  ideas  almost  wholly  coincident,  have 
a  point  of  exact  antithesis :  — 

"  Now  there  is  even  a  distinction  of  kind  between  the  two,  a  distinction 
beautifully  represented  in  the  words  themselves.  Thus  HAPPINESS,  according 
to  the  original  use  of  the  term,  is  that  which  happens,  or  comes  to  one  by  a 
haf ,  that  is,  by  an  outward  befalling,  or  favorable  condition.  Some  good  is 
conceived,  out  of  the  soul,  which  comes  to  it  as  a  happy  visitation,  stirring 
in  the  receiver  a  pleasant  excitement.  It  is  what  money  yields,  or  will  buy ; 
dress,  equipage,  fashion,  luxuries  of  the  table  ;  or  it  is  settlement  in  life, 
independence,  love,  applause,  admiration,  honor,  glory,  or  the  more  conven- 
tional and  public  benefits  of  rank,  political  standing,  victory,  power.  All 
these  stir  a  delight  in  the  soul,  which  is  not  of  the  soul,  or  its  quality,  but 
from  without.  Hence  they  are  looked  upon  as  happening  to  the  soul  and,  in 


EXPOSITION. 


393 


that  sense,  create  happiness.  .  .  .  But  JOY  differs  from  this,  as  being  of  the 
soul  itself,  originating  in  its  quality.  And  this  appears  in  the  original  form 
of  the  word ;  which,  instead  of  suggesting  a  hap,  literally  denotes  a  leap,  or 
spring.  .  .  .  The  radical  idea  then  of  joy  is  this ;  that  the  soul  is  in  such 
order  and  beautiful  harmony,  has  such  springs  of  life  opened  in  its  own  blessed 
virtues,  that  it  pours  forth  a  sovereign  joy  from  within.  The  motion  is  out- 
ward and  not  toward,  as  we  conceive  it  to  be  in  happiness.  It  is  not  the  bliss 
of  condition,  but  of  character.  There  is,  in  this,  a  well-spring  of  triumphant, 
sovereign  good,  and  the  soul  is  able  thus  to  pour  out  rivers  of  joy  into  the 
deserts  of  outward  experience.  It  has  a  light  in  its  own  luminous  centre, 
where  God  is,  that  gilds  the  darkest  nights  of  external  adversity,  a  music 
charming  all  the  stormy  discords  of  outward  injury  and  pain  into  beats  of 
rhythm,  and  melodies  of  peace." 

Here  the  antithesis  is :  happiness  comes  from  without;  joy  springs  up  from 
within. 

Exposition  by  Iteration,  and  by  Obverse  Iteration.  —  This 
manner  of  exposition  is  of  special  value  in  expounding  proposi- 
tions :  an  important  affirmation  is  seldom  allowed  to  stand  alone, 
but  its  sentiment  is  iterated  in  various  forms,  more  familiar  or 
more  figurative  or  more  terse,  until  it  is  sufficiently  impressed. 
A  natural  accompaniment  is  obverse  iteration,  or  denial  of  the 
counter  proposition ;  which  gives  additional  clearness  by  making 
known  what  the  principle  in  question  is  not,  as  well  as  what  it  is. 

EXAMPLES.  —  An  example,  from  Cardinal  Newman,  already  cited  on  page 
197,  will  show  how  an  assertion  is  presented  in  various  statements:  — 

Proposition  :  "  If  we  would  improve  the  intellect,  first  of  all,  we  must 
ascend  ; 

Obverse  :  we  cannot  gain  real  knowledge  on  a  level ; 

Proposition  iterated  in  explanatory  forms :  we  must  generalize,  we  must 
reduce  to  method,  we  must  have  a  grasp  of  principles,  and  group  and  shape 
our  acquisitions  by  means  of  them." 

The  Book  of  Proverbs  abounds  in  principles  stated  both  in  affirmation  and 
in  obverse:  this  is  indeed  one  of  its  prevailing  forms  of  exposition;  thus:  — 


"A  wise  son  maketh  a  glad  father; 

"  A  soft  answer  turneth  away  wrath ; 
"  He  that  covereth  his  sins  shall  not 
prosper; 


but  a  foolish  son  is  the  heaviness  of 

his  mother." 

but  grievous  words  stir  up  anger." 
but  whoso  confesseth   and   forsaketh 

them  shall  have  mercy." 


394  EXPOSITION. 

Sometimes  an  essay  or  treatise  is  written  in  order  to  expound  a  subject  both 
from  its  affirmative  and  its  negative  side;  for  instance,  one  of  Martineau's 
essays  is  entitled  "  Revelation :  What  it  is  not,  and  What  it  is." 

Exposition  by  Exemplification.  —  "The  meaning  of  an  abstrac- 
tion is  best  sought  for  in  the  concrete  —  of  an  universal  in  the 
particular."  For  this  reason  it  is  of  special  importance  in  expo- 
sition to  illustrate  its  generalizations,  wherever  possible,  by  particu- 
lar instances,  or  examples,  which,  embodying  the  idea  in  an  indi- 
vidual and  tangible  type,  take  away  its  abtruseness  and  translate 
it,  so  to  say,  into  familiar  language. 

EXAMPLE. —  Cardinal  Newman's  "  Grammar  of  Assent"  is  a  masterly  work 
of  exposition;  and  its  prevailing  method  is  exemplification.  An  instance  may 
here  be  cited :  — 

"  I  have  already  given  various  illustrations  of  Real  Assent;  I  will  follow 
them  up  here  by  some  instances  of  the  change  of  Notional  Assent  into 
Real.  .  .  . 

"  Twenty  years  ago,  the  Duke  of  Wellington  wrote  his  celebrated  letter  on 
the  subject  of  the  national  defences.  His  authority  gave  it  immediate  circula- 
tion among  all  classes  of  the  community;  none  questioned  what  he  said,  nor 
as  if  taking  his  words  on  faith  merely,  but  as  intellectually  recognizing  their 
truth;  yet  few  could  be  said  to  see  or  feel  that  truth.  His  letter  lay,  so  to  say, 
upon  the  pure  intellect  of  the  national  mind,  and  nothing  for  a  time  came 
of  it.  But  eleven  years  afterwards,  after  his  death,  the  anger  of  the  French 
colonels  with  us,  after  the  attempt  upon  Louis  Napoleon's  life,  transferred  its 
facts  to  the  charge  of  the  imagination.  Then  forthwith  the  national  assent 
became  in  various  ways  an  operative  principle,  especially  in  its  promotion  of 
the  volunteer  movement.  The  Duke,  having  a  special  eye  for  military  matters, 
had  realized  the  state  of  things  from  the  first;  but  it  took  a  course  of  years  to 
impress  upon  the  public  mind  an  assent  to  his  warning,  deeper  and  more  ener- 
getic than  the  reception  it  is  accustomed  to  give  to  a  clever  article  in  a  news- 
paper or  a  review." 

An  example,  in  order  to  be  an  effectual  illustration  of  an  idea, 
should  be  chosen  with  reference  to  two  qualities  :  its  embodiment 
of  the  idea  or  property  in  question  should  be  striking;  and  it 
should  be  as  far  as  possible  pure  and  typical,  free  from  extraneous 
or  exceptional  elements.  A  perfect  example  is  almost  as  valuable, 
in  the  realm  of  generalizations,  as  a  perfect  definition. 


EXPOSITION.  395 

NOTE.  —  If,  for  instance,  we  were  seeking  to  exemplify  crystallization  by 
exhibiting  a  real  crystal,  we  should  look  for  one  as  free  as  possible  from 
imperfections,  and  we  should  leave  out  of  account  the  breaks  and  distortions 
that  are  found  in  the  majority  of  specimens.  So  also,  in  exemplifying  intricate 
subjects,  it  is  advisable  to  illustrate,  as  far  as  may  be,  one  thing  at  a  time  ; 
an  example  may  easily  become  confusing  merely  by  being  too  complex. 

Exposition  by  Analogy.  —  Analogy,  by  which  is  meant  simi- 
larity of  relation  in  diversity  of  subject,  is  obviously  an  important 
accessory  in  expounding  the  relation  between  ideas.  Taking 
obscure  and  remote  relations,  it  makes  them  familiar  by  identify- 
ing them  with  relations  such  as  we  see  all  around  us ;  and  thus  the 
abstruse  becomes  simple. 

NOTE.  —  Analogy  differs  from  simile  in  that  it  is  concerned  not  with  the 
simple  resemblance  of  objects,  but  with  the  resemblance  or  identity  of  rela- 
tions between  objects.  Thus,  when  Emerson,  speaking  of  the  orator's  art, 
says,  "  Him  we  call  an  artist,  who  shall  play  on  an  assembly  of  men  as  a  mas- 
ter on  the  keys  of  the  piano,"  —  he  does  not  mean  to  liken  an  assembly  to  a 
piano,  nor  an  orator  to  a  pianist ;  he  is  merely  saying  that  the  relation  of  the 
pianist  to  his  instrument  is  like  the  relation  of  the  orator  to  his  audience. 

It  is  often  remarked  that  analogy,  as  a  form  of  argument,  is 
precarious.  This  is  true ;  and  in  the  next  chapter  we  shall  see 
why.1  As  an  instrument  of  exposition,  however,  analogy  is  of 
very  great  value.  Its  distinctive  function  is  to  illustrate ;  and 
though  we  have  to  be  cautious  about  depending  upon  it  as  estab- 
lishing the  truth  of  a  position,  yet  not  infrequently  it  may  so 
clearly  define  the  position  that  the  truth  of  it  may  be  seen  as  self- 
evident.  But  in  order  that  analogy  may  truly  illustrate,  we  need 
to  be  sure  that  the  relation  is  not  fanciful,  but  real  and  definite. 

EXAMPLES.  —  Bulwer-Lytton  thus  illustrates  the  proposition  that  every  one 
must  view  the  truth  in  his  own  individual  way :  — 

"  When  thou  gazest  on  the  track  of  light  which  the  moon  makes  on  the 
ocean,  that  track  to  thy  vision  seems  the  one  luminous  path  through  the 
measureless  waste  of  the  darkness  around  it ;  but  alter  the  course  of  thy  bark, 
and  the  track  shifts  with  the  course  —  those  waves  illumined  which  before 

1  See  below,  page  422. 


396  EXPOSITION. 

were  rayless,  and  those  in  darkness  which  before  were  bright.  For  the  dark 
and  the  light  vary  still  with  thine  own  point  of  vision  ;  and,  in  truth,  the 
moon  favors  not  one  wave  more  than  another.  Truth  makes  on  the  ocean  of 
nature  no  one  track  of  light  —  every  eye  looking  on  finds  its  own." 

The  following,  from  George  Eliot,  is  a  plain  man's  analogy  to  illustrate 
how  it  is  that  not  every  one  can  see  a  ghost :  — 

" '  But,'  said  the  farrier,  '  I'm  afraid  o'  neither  man  nor  ghost,  and  I'm 
ready  to  lay  a  fair  bet,  —  /  arn't  a  turn-tail  cur.' 

'  Ay,  but  there's  this  in  it,  Dowlas,'  said  the  landlord,  speaking  in  a  tone  of 
much  candor  and  tolerance.  'There's  folks,  i'  my  opinion,  they  can't  see 
ghos'es,  not  if  they  stood  as  plain  as  a  pike-staff  before  'em.  And  there's 
reason  i'  that.  For  there's  my  wife,  now,  can't  smell,  not  if  she'd  the  strong- 
est o'  cheese  under  her  nose.  I  never  see'd  a  ghost  myself ;  but  then  I  says 
to  myself,  "  Very  like  I  haven't  got  the  smell  for  'em."  I  mean,  putting  a 
ghost  for  a  smell,  or  else  contrairiways.  And  so  I'm  for  holding  with  both 
sides  ;  for,  as  I  say,  the  truth  lies  between  'em.  And  if  Dowlas  was  to  go 
and  stand  and  say  he'd  never  seen  a  wink  o'  Cliffs  Holiday  all  the  night 
through,  I'd  back  him ;  and  if  anybody  said  as  Cliffs  Holiday  was  certain 
sure  for  all  that,  I'd  back  him  too.  For  the  smell's  what  I  go  by.' 

The  landlord's  analogical  argument  was  not  well  received  by  the  farrier,  — 
a  man  intensely  opposed  to  compromise. 

'  Tut,  tut,'  he  said,  setting  down  his  glass  with  refreshed  irritation  ;  '  what's 
the  smell  got  to  do  with  it  ? '  " 

The  foregoing  means  of  exposition  may  of  course  be  employed 
and  combined  in  infinitely  varied  ways ;  but  it  is  important  that  at 
the  basis  of  every  expository  work  the  writer  determine  in  his  own 
mind,  whether  for  expression  or  not,  a  definition  as  exact  as  possi- 
ble of  what  he  would  expound.  If  this  were  always  done,  litera- 
ture would  be  much  less  infested  with  sloppy  and  ill-digested 
thought.  Such  careful  defining  is  really  determining  the  theme, 
and  gives  point  and  significance  to  every  illustration  and  every 
stroke  of  description. 

III. 

Exposition  Extensive,  or  Division.  —  The  foregoing  processes 
have  regarded  the  expounded  idea  as  one  of  a  class,  the  duty 
being  to  determine  its  individual  place  therein.  We  come  now  to 
the  kind  of  exposition  that  begins  with  the  class  itself;  and  the 


EXPOSITION.  397 

task  is  to  ascertain  how  the  system  of  ideas  is  to  be  divided  and 
subdivided  until  the  scope  of  its  application  is  accurately  deter- 
mined. Such  division  or  distribution  of  ideas  may  be  called 
exposition  extensive  ;  the  kind  of  exposition  in  which  the  meaning 
of  the  concept  is  determined  in  the  direction  of  its  breadth,  or  the 
field  over  which  its  application  extends.  Thus,  just  as  we  have 
viewed  the  notion  animal1  intensively,  as  containing  the  qualities 
of  organism,  life,  sensation,  voluntary  motion,  so  we  may  view  it 
extensively,  as  including  the  various  kinds  and  classes,  orders, 
genera  and  species,  that  make  up  the  vast  animal  kingdom. 

Division  ranges  through  all  grades  of  intricacy,  from  the  simple 
partition  of  a  subject  for  practical  purposes  up  to  the  complex 
ramifications  of  a  complete  system  of  thought.  Its  higher  aspects, 
included  under  the  term  Classification,  belong  more  to  logic  and 
science  than  to  literature.  In  that  higher  rank  of  division  the  aim 
is  to  ascertain  the  idea  in  its  fullness,  and  it  is  a  virtue  to  make 
the  classification  as  minute  and  exhaustive  as  there  is  any  possible 
occasion  for  in  nature.  In  literary  division,  however,  the  aim  is 
not  only  to  ascertain  the  truth  but  also  to  adapt  results  to  the 
requirements  of  a  reader  or  hearer ;  and  this  double  aim  impels 
in  an  opposite  direction,  toward  simplicity  instead  of  toward  com- 
plexity. The  principles  of  division,  and  the  mental  endowment 
necessary  to  it,  remain  the  same,  however  intricate  the  problem. 
It  is  the  object  here  not  to  trace  division  into  its  logical  technical- 
ities, but  merely  to  set  forth  the  procedures  and  cautions  attending 
the  use  of  division  in  general  literary  undertakings. 

The  Principle  of  Division.  —  Every  division  of  an  idea  must 
be  based  on  a  definite  principle ;  that  is,  there  must  be  a  partic- 
ular way  of  looking  at  the  subject  to  which  all  the  dividing  mem- 
bers are  equally  related.  What  the  principle  shall  be,  in  any  given 
case,  depends  on  the  writer's  aim  in  making  the  exposition. 
Thus,  a  moralist  would  classify  mankind  on  one  principle,  a 
political  economist  on  another,  an  ethnologist  on  another,  a  stu- 
dent of  comparative  religions  on  another.  The  same  original 
1  See  page  384,  above. 


398  EXPOSITION. 

notion  is  capable  of  being  divided  in  an  indefinite  variety  of  ways, 
according  to  the  principle  adopted. 

Every  division  must  not  only  have  a  principle,  but  must  adhere 
throughout  to  one  principle ;  otherwise  it  is  no  true  division,  that 
is,  the  dividing  members  cross  each  other. 

NOTE.  —  Thus,  if  literature  were  classified  into  prose,  verse,  history,  fiction, 
and  religious  literature,  the  first  two  divisions  would  be  according  to  its 
expression,  the  third  and  fourth  according  to  its  kind  of  material,  and  the  fifth 
according  to  its  aim  or  sentiment.  But  fiction  may  also  be  verse,  and  must  be 
either  verse  or  prose,  and  any  of  these  kinds  may  be  religious  ;  —  in  fact,  the 
apparent  division  is  no  division  at  all;  it  is,  as  would  be  popularly  expressed, 
"  all  mixed  up." 

An  author  may  make  in  turn  different  divisions  of  his  subject  on  different 
principles.  Thus,  Mr.  Mulford,  in  his  book  on  "The  Nation,"  treating  of 
Rights,  first  classifies  them  as  they  belong  to  man  as  man :  "  The  primary 
distinction  of  rights  is  of  Natural  and  of  Positive  Rights.  Rights  are  natural, 
as  laid  in  the  nature  of  man ;  rights  are  positive,  as  defined  in  the  nation. 
Rights  are  natural,  as  immanent  in  the  nature  of  man;  rights  are  positive,  as 
emanent  in  the  nation."  He  then  goes  on  to  classify  rights  as  they  belong  to 
man  as  a  citizen.  "  Natural  rights  in  their  positive  determination,  are  further 
defined  as  they  are  determined  in  the  Civil  or  the  Political  process  in  the 
nation.  Civil  rights  belong  to  the  jural;  political  rights  to  the  moral  organiza- 
tion of  the  nation";  etc.  Still  other  principles  of  division  he  takes  up  and 
examines  later  in  the  chapter  under  the  head  "  Rights  as  defined  in  legal  and 
political  forms,"  where  he  criticises  the  following  classifications :  "  a.  Original 
and  acquired  rights ;  b.  Absolute  and  relative  rights ;  c.  Rights  of  persons 
and  things." 

Completeness  of  Division.  —  A  division  needs  to  be  complete 
and  exhaustive,  both  as  regards  its  comprehensiveness  and  as 
regards  its  minuteness. 

i.  As  regards  its  comprehensiveness,  the  dividing  members 
taken  together  should  be  exactly  commensurate  with  the  divided 
whole ;  otherwise  the  division  leaves  the  feeling  that  something 
may  have  been  forgotten  that  if  known  might  invalidate  the  whole 
process.  This  is  easy  to  propound  ;  not  so  easy  to  reduce  to  rule. 
In  general,  however,  it  may  be  said,  that  by  careful  and  cautious 
habit  in  judging  the  scope  and  limits  of  ideas  the  writer  almost 


EXPOSITION.  399 

insensibly  develops  the  ability  to  construct  a  full  and  symmetrical 
circle  of  thought ;  there  is  something  in  the  form  of  the  distribu- 
tion by  which  we  are  made  aware  that  all  the  aspects  of  the 
thought,  on  that  chosen  scale,  are  provided  for. 

NOTE.  —  The  strictest  logical  guarantee  of  completeness  in  division  is  what 
is  called  "  bifurcate  classification,"  that  is,  classification  that  divides  by  a 
positive  and  a  negative  quality.  Thus,  by  this  classification  angles  would  be 
classified  as  follows :  — 

1.  Right  angles. 

2.  (Not  right)  Oblique  angles  j  Acute  (less  than  ri£ht)' 

(  Obtuse  (more  than  right). 

So  also  Lord  Bacon's  classification  of  natural  history  would  appear  thus :  — 

1.  Nature  in  course  —  creatures. 

2.  Nature  not  in  course  \  Perverted  -  marvels. 

(  Improved  —  arts. 

Literary  use,  however,  need  not  be  so  rigid.  It  bears  to  our  minds  equally 
the  feeling  of  completeness  if  we  take  Lord  Bacon's  classification  in  his  own 
words :  "  History  of  nature  is  of  three  sorts  :  of  nature  in  course;  of  nature 
erring  or  varying;  and  of  nature  altered  or  wrought;  that  is,  history  of  crea- 
tures, history  of  marvels,  and  history  of  arts."  Here  we  cannot  easily  think 
of  any  aspect  of  nature  not  included  in  these  three  divisions.  The  same  feel- 
ing of  a  complete  circle  of  thought  arises  on  contemplating  his  division  of 
general  history :  "  History,  which  may  be  called  just  and  perfect  history,  is  of 
three  kinds,  according  to  the  object  which  it  propoundeth  or  pretendeth  to 
represent :  for  it  either  representeth  a  time,  or  a  person,  or  an  action.  The 
first  we  call  chronicles,  the  second  lives,  and  the  third  narrations  or  relations." 

2.  As  regards  its  minuteness.  Of  course,  on  any  principle  of 
division  the  idea  is  subject  to  subdivision,  sub-subdivision,  and 
so  on ;  the  classification  proceeding  by  successive  steps  from  the 
more  general  to  the  more  particular.  Here  the  writer  has  to  form 
the  habit  of  accurately  estimating  the  relative  distance  of  any 
division  from  the  main  division,  and  of  measuring  divisions  and 
subdivisions  by  each  other  to  ascertain  their  relative  rank.  The 
ability  to  do  this  becomes  increasingly  a  matter  of  insight,  or  at 
least  of  the  application  of  undefined  criterions. 

A  division  may  be  complete  as  far  as  it  goes,  and  complete 


400  EXPOSITION. 

enough  for  the  purpose  in  hand,  though  not  carried  to  the  minute- 
ness of  which  it  is  capable.  The  wise  writer  will  not  divide  more 
minutely  than  he  has  occasion  to  employ  the  classification ;  it 
confuses  more  than  it  helps  if  he  does. 

NOTE.  —  We  may  append  here  as  an  example  Mr.  Mulford's  subdivision 
of  the  idea  of  Rights,  previously  cited.  Rights  are  — 

1.  Civil  rights. 

a.  The  right  of  life. 

b.  The  right  of  liberty. 

c.  The  right  of  property. 

d.  The  right  of  equality  before  the  law. 

2.  Political  rights. 

a.  The  right  of  citizenship. 

b.  The  right  of  participation  in  national  progress. 

c.  The  right  of  personal  action  as  a  power  in  the  nation. 

d.  The  right  of  protection  in  moral  relations. 

Laws  of  Division.  —  In  addition  to  what  is  involved  in  the 
above  considerations,  the  following  laws  of  division  should  be 
observed :  — 

1.  Every  member  of  a  division  should  be  as  complete  and  distinctly 
bounded  in  itself  as  is  the  divided  whole  ;  that  is,  the  dividing  members 
should  exclude  each  other. 

Thus,  if  a  classification  of  geometrical  figures  should  contain  plane  figures, 
parallelograms,  rectangles,  and  polygons,  the  members  would  not  be  mutu- 
ally exclusive,  for  plane  figures  would  include  all  the  others,  and  parallel- 
ograms would  include  also  rectangles. 

The  old  colloquial  description  of  something  nondescript  or  anomalous,  that 
it  is  "  neither  fish  nor  flesh  nor  good  red  herring  "  derives  its  point  from  the 
fact  that  the  first  member  includes  also  the  third. 

2.  In  dividing,  work  for  simplicity,  that  is,  for  few  and  fundamental 
distinctions  instead  of  for  many  and  minute  ones.     A  broad  and  deep 
distinction  justifies  itself. 

To  classify  animals,  for  instance,  according  to  the  number  of  legs,  into 
bipeds,  quadrupeds,  etc.,  would  lead  only  to  complexity  and  confusion,  and 
would  reveal  no  fundamental  distinction;  the  true  division  must  look  for 
principles  that  determine  more  deeply  the  life  and  nature  of  the  animal. 


EXPOSITION.  401 

3.  Seek  to  find  the  distinctions  wholly  in  the  nature  of  the  idea ;  and 
beware  of  fanciful  analogies  or  arbitrary  preconceptions  of  symmetry 
in  the  subject.  It  is  easy  for  the  fancy,  once  allowed  the  control,  to 
make  brilliant  but  essentially  unreal  distinctions. 

NOTE. — The  following  divisions  from  Lord  Bacon  are  perhaps  true  enough, 
but  the  similitudes  by  which  they  are  illustrated  provoke  the  inquiry  whether 
it  was  not  fancy  rather  than  insight  that  suggested  them :  — 

"  For  civil  history,  it  is  of  three  kinds;  not  unfitly  to  be  compared  with  the 
three  kinds  of  pictures  or  images.  For  of  pictures  or  images,  we  see  some 
are  unfinished,  some  are  perfect,  and  some  are  defaced.  So  of  histories  we 
may  find  three  kinds,  memorials,  perfect  histories,  and  antiquities;  for  memo- 
rials are  history  unfinished,  or  the  first  or  rough  draughts  of  history;  and 
antiquities  are  history  defaced,  or  some  remnants  of  history  which  have  casu- 
ally escaped  the  shipwrecks  of  time." 

"The  knowledge  of  man  is  as  the  waters,  some  descending  from  above, 
and  some  springing  from  beneath;  the  one  informed  by  the  light  of  nature, 
the  other  inspired  by  divine  revelation.  The  light  of  nature  consisteth  in  the 
notions  of  the  mind  and  the  reports  of  the  senses:  for  as  for  knowledge 
which  man  receiveth  by  teaching,  it  is  cumulative  and  not  original;  as  in  a 
water  that  besides  his  own  spring-head  is  fed  with  other  springs  and  streams. 
So  then,  according  to  these  two  differing  illuminations  or  originals,  knowledge 
is  first  of  all  divided  into  divinity  and  philosophy." 

Partition  of  a  Subject.  — Distinction  is  to  be  made  between 
the  division  of  an  idea  and  the  mere  partition  of  a  subject.  Divis- 
ion is  made  in  the  interests  of  completeness,  and  is  worthless 
unless  there  are  dividing  members  enough  to  make  up  exactly 
the  divided  whole,  each  being  a  true  part  of  the  whole.  Partition 
is  made  for  the  conveniences  of  present  treatment ;  accordingly  it 
may  stop  with  any  limitation  of  the  aspects  of  the  subject,  and  its 
divisions,  while  they  are  component  parts  of  the  subject,  may  or 
may  not  relate  to  the  subject  as  species  to  genus.  So  also  in  par- 
tition a  striking  or  figurative  division  is  not  excluded,  and  may 
indeed  be  an  advantage  as  a  mnemonic  to  hold  the  real  division 
in  mind. 

NOTE.  —  The  remarks  already  made  on  The  Outline  Structure,  pages  264- 
266,  and  on  The  Development,  pages  272-279,  bear  closely  on  Partition.  A 


402  EXPOSITION. 

passage  from  Burke's  East  India  Bill  speech l  may  here  be  quoted  to  show 
Burke's  extraordinary  care  in  dividing  his  subjects  :  — 

"  My  second  condition,  necessary  to  justify  me  in  touching  the  charter,  is, 
whether  the  Company's  abuse  of  their  trust,  with  regard  to  this  great  object, 
be  an  abuse  of  great  atrocity.  I  shall  beg  your  permission  to  consider  their 
conduct  in  two  lights :  first,  the  political,  and  then  the  commercial.  Their 
political  conduct  (for  distinctness)  I  divide  again  into  two  heads :  the  exter- 
nal, in  which  I  mean  to  comprehend  their  conduct  in  their  federal  capacity,  as 
it  relates  to  powers  and  states  independent,  or  that  not  long  since  were  such; 
the  other  internal,  namely,  their  conduct  to  the  countries  either  immediately 
subject  to  the  Company,  or  to  those  who,  under  the  apparent  government  of 
native  sovereigns,  are  in  a  state  much  lower,  and  much  more  miserable,  than 
common  subjection. 

"  The  attention,  sir,  which  I  wish  to  preserve  to  method  will  not  be  consid- 
ered as  unnecessary  or  affected.  Nothing  else  can  help  me  to  selection,  out 
of  the  infinite  mass  of  materials  which  have  passed  under  my  eye,  or  can  keep 
my  mind  steady  to  the  great  leading  points  I  have  in  view." 

II.     EXPOSITION   IN   LITERATURE. 

Exposition  in  some  form  is  one  of  the  most  prevalent  modes  of 
literary  endeavor.  It  covers  broadly  all  the  work  of  informing  the 
intellect,  just  as  description  and  narration  cover  broadly  the  work 
of  arousing  and  satisfying  the  imagination.  The  great  body  of 
literature  that  imparts  knowledge,  opinion,  and  counsel,  may  be 
included  under  the  comprehensive  term  exposition. 

Let  us  name  a  little  more  particularly  the  great  divisions  of  lit- 
erature in  which  exposition  is  the  basis. 

Science  and  Systematized  Thought.  —  Under  this  head  may  be 
comprised  the  various  literary  works  that  aim  to  present  important 
subjects  of  knowledge  or  philosophy  or  speculation,  in  a  thorough 
and  carefully  ordered  manner.  A  very  large  proportion  of  pub- 
lished works  belongs  here.  Text-books  in  science ;  treatises  on 
subjects  philosophical,  political,  economic ;  monographs  on  im- 
portant questions  of  the  day ;  all  are  predominantly  works  of  ex- 
position. Other  forms  of  discourse,  and  especially  argumentation, 

1  The  plan  of  this  passage  has  already  been  drawn  out,  p.  279,  to  illustrate  the 
deductive  order  of  development. 


EXPOSITION.  403 

may  enter  in  to  afford  help ;  but  the  primary  impulse  that  deter- 
mines the  work  is  the  impulse  to  set  forth  in  order  what  the  author 
has  thought  out  or  deduced  from  investigation. 

Such  expository  work  takes  two  principal  forms,  the  treatise  and 
the  essay. 

1.  The  treatise,  which  generally  takes  the  compass  of  a  volume 
or  more,  aims  to  present  its  subject  in  all  parts  and  with  a  thorough 
and  finished  treatment.     In  some  cases  it  is  very  elaborate,  giving 
all  the  processes  of  thought  and  investigation  by  which  results  are 
obtained ;  in  other  cases  it  gives  results  only. 

EXAMPLES.  —  Lyell's  "Principles  of  Geology";  Darwin's  "Origin  of  Spe- 
cies"; Bacon's  "  Advancement  of  Learning";  Mill's  treatise  on  "  Liberty  "; 
Tylor's  "Primitive  Culture";  Newman's  "Grammar  of  Assent";  Jevons's 
"  Principles  of  Science." 

2.  The  essay  presents  its  material  in  briefer  compass,  in  a  style 
more  adapted  to  popular  apprehension,  and  as  a  consequence  with 
a  less  exhaustive  treatment ;  its  office  being,  as  John  Morley  defines 
it,  "  merely  to  open  questions,  to  indicate  points,  to  suggest  cases, 
to  sketch  outlines." l 

Owing  to  the  tendency,  now  so  prevalent,  to  discuss  matters  of 
all  kinds  in  periodical  publications,  the  essay  has  developed  into  a 
character  quite  different  from  what  it  had  originally,  when  it  was 
modestly  named  essay — that  is,  trial,  or  attempt.  Or  rather, 
while  some  essayists  have  adhered  to  the  original  type,  others,  and 
those  the  majority,  have  obeyed  the  tendency  to  make  it  a  more 
comprehensive  form  for  periodical  writing ;  and  thus  have  arisen 
two  distinct  types  of  essay.2 

The  first,  which  is  the  prevailing  modern  type,  may  be  called 
the  didactic.  It  aims  at  careful  plan,  lays  down  a  definite  prop- 
osition to  be  established  by  logical  exposition  and  reasoning,  and 
addresses  itself  rigidly  to  the  understanding.  In  such  a  work 

1  Morley,  "  On  Compromise,"  preface. 

2  This  classification  of  essay-writing  is  taken  from  Bulwer-Lytton, "  Caxtoniana," 
p.  141  sq. 


404  EXPOSITION. 

the  interest  centres  in  the  subject-matter,  and  the  writer's  own 
personality  disappears,  or  at  least  is  not  asserted  and  made 
prominent. 

EXAMPLES.  —  Such  essays  as  these  are  exemplified  in  the  great  body  of 
articles  that  appear  each  month  in  such  reviews  as  the  Edinburgh,  the  Nine- 
teenth Century,  the  Contemporary,  the  Fortnightly,  and  the  North  American. 
Also  by  such  names  as  Macaulay  and  Carlyle,  De  Quincey  and  Hazlitt,  Marti- 
neau  and  Leslie  Stephen,  Hutton  and  Dowden,  Bagehot  and  Whipple,  each 
of  whom  is  best  known  by  a  considerable  body  of  critical,  historical,  and  mis- 
cellaneous essays. 

It  is  the  structure  of  such  essays  as  these  that  has  been  studied  as  the  norm 
of  literary  structure,  in  the  chapter  on  General  Processes  in  the  Ordering  of 
Material. 

The  second,  which  more  nearly  answers  to  the  original  type, 
may  be  called  the  personal  essay,  because  in  it  the  writer  more 
freely  reveals  his  own  fancies  and  feelings,  whims  and  peculiarities. 
Studied  plan,  and  formal  processes  of  exposition  and  argument, 
are  avoided ;  the  essay  seeks  more  the  free  confidence  and  the 
wayward  course  of  private  conversation. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  most  noted  representative  of  this  type  of  essay  is  Mon- 
taigne, who  is  regarded  as  the  father  of  the  essay.  Others  are  —  Cowley, 
the  essayists  of  the  Spectator,  Charles  Lamb,  and  Thackeray.  In  all  these 
we  feel  a  special  interest  in  the  writers;  to  read  the  essays  is  like  having 
a  chat  with  a  personal  friend,  who  is  endeavoring  to  entertain  rather  than 
to  instruct  us. 

Criticism.  — This  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  kind  of  exposition  ;  its 
aim  being  to  find  the  principles  that  should  determine  a  work  of 
literature  or  art  or  polity,  and  pass  judgment  on  it  according  as 
it  fulfils  or  transgresses  those  principles. 

Criticism  is  not  merely  fault-finding.  The  popular  use  of  the 
word  in  this  sense  indicates  that  the  mission  of  criticism  has  been 
too  predominantly  misinterpreted,  and  that  what  is  really  a  noble 
science  is  near  to  falling  into  disrepute.  Its  office  is  to  find  the 
good  as  well  as  the  bad ;  to  lay  down  fair  and  deep  principles ; 
and  to  determine  its  awards  never  by  prejudice  or  favor,  but  by 


EXPOSITION.  405 

the  rigorous  application  of  sound  standards  of  judgment.  Such 
work  as  this  demands  peculiar  endowments  on  the  part  of  the 
critic.  He  must  have  a  large  and  thorough  knowledge  not  only 
of  what  he  criticises,  but  of  its  whole  sphere  of  ideas  and  techni- 
calities ;  he  must  have  the  ability  to  enter,  without  disturbing  pre- 
possessions, into  the  thought  and  feeling  of  others,  so  as  to  see 
through  their  eyes  and  judge  by  their  standards ;  and  finally,  he 
must  maintain  fixed  standards  of  his  own,  which,  while  they  do 
not  preclude  fair  judgment,  give  him  a  definite  point  of  view,  and 
give  his  criticisms  an  individual  conviction  and  value.  Criticism 
so  determined  is  in  the  broadest  sense  interpretation  of  life,  art, 
literature ;  or,  to  adopt  Matthew  Arnold's  definition,1  it  is  "  a  dis- 
interested endeavor  to  learn  and  propagate  the  best  that  is  known 
and  thought  in  the  world,  and  thus  to  establish  a  current  of  fresh 
and  true  ideas." 

NOTE.  —  It  may  be  well  to  mention  some  of  the  names  most  identified  with 
criticism.  In  literary  criticism  the  name  of  Saint-Beuve,  Matthew  Arnold, 
Walter  Bagehot,  Professor  Dowden,  Leslie  Stephen,  and  James  Russell  Low- 
ell; in  art-criticism  preeminently  the  name  of  John  Ruskin,  who  has  almost 
created  the  sphere  in  which  his  artistic  knowledge  expresses  itself.  Some  of 
the  earlier  critics  are  Francis  Jeffrey,  William  Hazlitt,  Sydney  Smith,  and 
Lord  Brougham. 

Popular  Exposition. — Under  this  head  may  be  mentioned  a 
class  of  literary  productions,  usually  in  the  form  of  essays,  some- 
times in  brief  paragraphs  or  aphorisms,  which  aims  to  give  in 
attractive  and  readable  style  important  advice  for  the  everyday 
conduct  of  life,  or  remarks  on  manners,  morals,  foibles  and  follies 
of  the  day.  and  the  like.  Such  works  do  not  pretend  to  scien- 
tific completeness  in  the  presentation  of  any  line  of  thought; 
their  aim  is  merely  to  rouse  thought  or  give  needed  counsel  in  a 
style  of  conversational  simplicity  such  as  shall  secure  it  a  reading 
by  the  ordinary  people  for  whom  it  is  intended. 

1  Arnold,  "  Essays  in  Criticism,"  p.  37.  The  above  qualifications  of  the  critic 
are  condensed  from  Wilkinson,  "  A  Free  Lance  in  the  Field  of  Life  and  Letters," 
pp.  108-111.  Compare  also  preceding,  pp.  302-307. 


406  EXPOSITION. 

EXAMPLES.  —  This  class  of  literature  is  well  represented  by  a  large  propor- 
tion of  the  essays  of  the  Spectator  and  Rambler,  and  in  general  by  essays  of 
the  personal  type.  In  the  present  day  it  is  represented  by  such  works  as  Dr. 
Holland's  "  Gold  Foil "  and  "  Timothy  Titcomb's  Letters,"  and  perhaps  by 
the  essays  of  Emerson;  also  by  many  of  Sir  Arthur  Helps's  works. 


ARC  UMENTA  TION,  407 


CHAPTER  VII. 

INVENTION   DEALING  WITH    TRUTHS: 
ARGUMENTATION. 

IN  making  exposition  of  an  idea,  the  writer  is  for  the  time  being 
concerned  merely  with  the  meaning  and  content  of  it,  the  question 
whether  it  is  true  or  false  being  waived.  It  may  be  an  idea  so 
clear  and  sound,  so  obviously  accordant  with  fact,  that  when  once 
it  is  fully  expounded  the  truth  or  error  of  it  is  plain  enough  with- 
out further  treatment ;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  it  may  still  be 
debatable,  questionable,  that  is,  may  still  require  some  test  or 
proof,  before  the  reader  can  be  regarded  as  satisfied  of  its  con- 
clusiveness.  The  various  means  by  which  such  test  of  the  truth  of 
things  is  made  are  comprised  under  the  head  of  Argumentation. 

Argumentation  may  deal  either  with  ideas  or  with  facts,  that  is, 
either  with  truths  generalized  into  notions,  such  as  are  the  subjects 
of  exposition,  or  with  individual  and  particular  truths,  such  as  are 
the  subjects  of  narration  and  description.  And  in  thus  handling 
truths,  it  comes  to  the  same  whether  the  writer  is  concerned  with 
proving  a  thing  true  or  with  proving  it  false ;  for  at  any  rate,  if  he 
is  honest,  he  is  endeavoring  to  ascertain  where  the  truth  is,  and 
any  negative  process  of  finding  where  it  is  not  is  in  reality  only 
secondary  thereto. 

Reasoning  as  a  science  belongs  to  logic  rather  than  to  rhetoric ; 
we  are  here  concerned  merely  with  reasoning  as  it  appears  in  liter- 
ature, that  is,  reasoning  contemplating  readers  or  hearers,  and 
adapting  itself  as  an  art  to  their  capacities  and  requirements.  It 
is  to  this  rhetorical  art  that  we  give  the  distinctive  name  argu- 
mentation. Our  object  therefore  is  not  to  trace  out  the  technical 
minutiae  of  processes  of  reasoning,  in  themselves  considered ;  we 


408  AR  G  UMENTA  TION. 

are  rather  to  inquire  how  reasoning  can  be  adapted  to  clear  and 
effective  communication  of  thought,  and  what  forms  of  argument 
are  most  useful  and  prevalent  in  ordinary  literary  tasks. 

In  establishing  truth  there  are  two  main  forms  of  attack :  either 
to  set  the  truth  directly  before  the  mind  and  adduce  facts  and 
arguments  to  substantiate  it ;  or  to  attack  some  erroneous  position 
which,  being  demolished,  will  leave  the  truth  in  question  free  to 
assert  itself.  Under  these  two  heads  we  will  arrange  the  various 
forms  of  argument. 

I.     PROOF   OF  TRUTH   DIRECTLY. 

In  seeking  how  to  arrange  the  various  ways  of  proving  truth 
directly,  we  may  perhaps  best  follow  the  logical  order  in  which 
knowledge  is  obtained.  There  are  three  principal  ways.  First  of 
all,  there  is  the  direct  observation  and  discovery  of  facts  ;  secondly, 
from  the  accumulation  of  these  discovered  facts  there  is  the  infer- 
ence of  other  facts  or  of  general  principles ;  and  finally,  there  is 
inference  from  general  principles  or  truths  to  other  truths,  general 
or  particular.  These  three  ways  of  obtaining  knowledge  are  the 
basis  of  three  types  of  argument. 

I. 

Discovery  of  Facts :  Testimony  and  Authority.  —  Of  the 
primary  and  fundamental  means  of  discovering  facts,  our  own  per- 
sonal observation,  enough,  perhaps,  has  already  been  said.1  It  is, 
however,  only  a  small  proportion  of  the  facts  we  must  use,  that 
we  can  obtain  in  this  way.  We  must  depend  very  largely  on  what 
others  report  to  us.  And  of  the  evidence  they  furnish  we  discern 
two  kinds.  There  is  first,  simple  affirmation  of  what  the  witness 
has  himself  observed,  which  we  name  Testimony ;  and  secondly, 
there  is  the  report  of  what  the  observer,  by  special  judgment  or 
research  or  skill,  has  shaped  into  a  trustworthy  opinion ;  and  this 
we  name  Authority. 

1  See  preceding,  pages  227  sqq. 


ARGUMENT  A  TION.  409 

Testimony.  —  It  would  seem  at  first  thought  a  very  simple  mat- 
ter to  obtain  the  report  of  a  witness  as  to  what  he  has  seen  and 
heard.  There  are  involved  in  it,  however,  questions  of  no  little 
intricacy,  in  determining  the  value  of  a  witness's  testimony  to  the 
case,  and  in  evolving  the  real  truth  from  inconsistent  or  conflict- 
ing reports. 

i.  In  estimating  the  value  of  any  testimony,  regard  is  had  to  the 
character  and  circumstances  of  the  witness.  First,  is  he  a  man  of 
reputed  honesty  and  veracity?  Secondly,  is  he  a  man  of  ability  to 
testify, —  can  he  observe  accurately,  remember  truly,  and  make 
intelligent  report  of  what  he  has  observed?  Thirdly,  are  the  cir- 
cumstances under  which  he  testifies  favorable  to  the  truthfulness 
of  his  testimony  or  not — that  is,  has  he  any  motive  to  be  other 
than  honest,  and  is  he  testifying  for  or  against  his  own  interest? 
A  reluctant  testimony,  or  a  testimony  that  prejudices  the  pros- 
pects of  the  witness  himself,  is  regarded  as  especially  likely  to  be 
true.  Many  centuries  ago  the  ideal  citizen  was  characterized  as 
one  "  that  sweareth  to  his  own  hurt,  and  changeth  not." 

ILLUSTRATIONS.  —  In  his  speech  on  the  murder  of  Captain  Joseph  White, 
Daniel  Webster  thus  compares  the  claims  of  two  witnesses  to  veracity:  — 

"These  two  witnesses,  Mr.  Coleman  and  N.  P.  Knapp,  differ  entirely. 
There  is  no  possibility  of  reconciling  them.  No  charity  can  cover  both.  One 
or  the  other  has  sworn  falsely.  If  N.  P.  Knapp  be  believed,  Mr.  Coleman's 
testimony  must  be  wholly  disregarded.  It  is,  then,  a  question  of  credit,  a 
question  of  belief  between  the  two  witnesses.  As  you  decide  between  these, 
so  you  will  decide  on  all  this  part  of  the  case. 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Coleman  ?  He  is  an  intelligent,  accurate,  and  cautious  wit- 
ness; a  gentleman  of  high  and  well-known  character,  and  of  unquestionable 
veracity;  as  a  clergyman,  highly  respectable;  as  a  man,  of  fair  name  and 
fame.  ...  It  is  a  misconstruction  of  Mr.  Coleman's  motives,  at  once  the 
most  strange  and  the  most  uncharitable,  a  perversion  of  all  just  views  of  his 
conduct  and  intentions  the  most  unaccountable,  to  represent  him  as  acting,  on 
this  occasion,  in  hostility  to  any  one,  or  as  desirous  of  injuring  or  endangering 
any  one.  He  has  stated  his  own  motives,  and  his  own  conduct,  in  a  manner 
to  command  universal  belief  and  universal  respect. 

"The  relation  in  which  the  other  witness  stands  deserves  your  careful  con- 
sideration. He  is  a  member  of  the  family.  He  has  the  lives  of  two  brothers 


410  ARC  UMENTA  TION. 

depending,  as  he  may  think,  on  the  effect  of  his  evidence;  depending  on 
every  word  he  speaks.  I  hope  he  has  not  another  responsibility  resting  upon 
him.  .  .  .  Compare  the  situation  of  these  two  witnesses.  Do  you  not  see 
mighty  motive  enough  on  the  one  side,  and  want  of  all  motive  on  the  other? 
I  would  gladly  find  an  apology  for  that  witness,  in  his  agonized  feelings,  in  his 
distressed  situation;  in  the  agitation  of  that  hour,  or  of  this.  I  would  gladly 
impute  it  to  error,  or  to  want  of  recollection,  to  confusion  of  mind,  or  dis- 
turbance of  feeling.  I  would  gladly  impute  to  any  pardonable  source  that 
which  cannot  be  reconciled  to  facts  and  to  truth;  but  even  in  a  case  calling 
for  so  much  sympathy,  justice  must  yet  prevail,  and  we  must  come  to  the  con- 
clusion, however  reluctantly,  which  that  demands  from  us." 

2.  The  next  thing  to  be  considered  is,  the  character  of  the  tes- 
timony. Does  it  look  probable  on  the  face  of  it,  —  that  is,  is  it 
consistent  with  ordinary  experience?  Is  it  consistent  with  the 
facts  already  known  concerning  the  case  in  question  ?  Above  all, 
is  it  consistent  with  itself,  —  that  is,  does  the  witness  tell  a  straight- 
forward and  homogeneous  story,  or  does  he  contradict  himself? 
and  when  he  repeats  statements,  are  there  irreconcilable  variations 
in  the  repetition?  It  is  for  the  purpose  of  testing  the  witness's 
evidence  in  regard  to  its  self-consistency  that  cross-examination  is 
instituted  in  legal  trials. 

Some  kinds  of  testimony  are  regarded  as  of  special  value.  Such 
are  —  undesigned  testimony,  by  which  is  meant  what  the  witness 
inadvertently  or  incidentally  gives,  without  realizing  its  possible 
bearing  on  the  case ;  negative  testimony,  or  "  the  failure  of  the 
witness  to  mention  a  fact  so  striking  that  he  must  have  noticed  it 
had  it  occurred"  ;  and  hostile  testimony, — that  is,  the  honest  con- 
cession of  some  fact  that  makes  against  the  witness's  position  or 
prospects.1 

ILLUSTRATION.  —  The  following,  from  Erskine's  speech  in  behalf  of  Lord 
George  Gordon,  will  illustrate  how  testimony,  as  well  as  the  witness's  charac- 
ter, is  sifted  and  scrutinized :  — 

"  The  first  witness  to  support  this  prosecution  is  William  Hay  —  a  bankrupt 
in  fortune  he  acknowledges  himself  to  be,  and  I  am  afraid  he  is  a  bankrupt  in 
conscience.  Such  a  scene  of  impudent,  ridiculous  inconsistency  would  have 

1  See  Gilmore's  "  Outlines  of  Rhetoric,"  p.  57. 


ARGUMENTATION.  411 

utterly  destroyed  his  credibility  in  the  most  trifling  civil  suit;  and  I  am,  there- 
fore, almost  ashamed  to  remind  you  of  his  evidence,  when  I  reflect  that  you 
will  never  suffer  it  to  glance  across  your  minds  on  this  solemn  occasion. 

"  This  man,  whom  I  may  now,  without  offense  or  slander,  point  out  to  you 
as  a  dark  Popish  spy,  who  attended  the  meetings  of  the  London  Association 
to  pervert  their  harmless  purposes,  conscious  that  the  discovery  of  his  charac- 
ter would  invalidate  all  his  testimony,  endeavored  at  first  to  conceal  the  activ- 
ity of  his  zeal,  by  denying  that  he  had  seen  any  of  the  destructive  scenes 
imputed  to  the  Protestants.  Yet,  almost  in  the  same  breath,  it  came  out,  by 
his  own  confession,  that  -there  was  hardly  a  place,  public  or  private,  where  riot 
had  erected  her  standard,  in  which  he  had  not  been;  nor  a  house,  prison,  or 
chapel,  that  was  destroyed,  to  the  demolition  of  which  he  had  not  been  a  wit- 
ness. He  was  at  Newgate,  the  Fleet,  at  Langdale,  and  at  Coleman  Street;  at 
the  Sardinian  Ambassador's,  and  in  Great  Queen  Street,  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields. 
What  took  him  to  Coachmaker's  Hall?  He  went  there,  as  he  told  us,  to  watch 
their  proceedings,  because  he  expected  no  good  from  them;  and  to  justify  his 
prophecy  of  evil,  he  said,  on  his  examination  by  the  Crown,  that,  as  early  as 
December,  he  had  heard  some  alarming  republican  language.  What  language 
did  he  remember  ?  '  Why,  that  the  Lord  Advocate  of  Scotland  was  called  only 
Harry  Dunclas ! '  Finding  this  too  ridiculous  for  so  grave  an  occasion,  he 
endeavored  to  put  some  words  about  the  breach  of  the  King's  coronation  oath 
into  the  prisoner's  mouth,  as  proceeding  from  himself;  which  it  is  notorious 
he  read  out  of  an  old  Scotch  book,  published  near  a  century  ago,  on  the  abdi- 
cation of  King  James  the  Second." 

The  testimony  is  subjected  thus  to  scrutiny  step  by  step;  — as  Dr.  Good- 
rich remarks,  "  Nothing  could  be  finer  than  the  way  in  which  Mr.  Erskine 
sifts  this  evidence  and  detects  its  falsehood."  There  is  room,  however,  to 
quote  only  a  sentence  of  his  summary :  — 

"It  may  be  asked,  are  these  circumstances  material?  and  the  answer  is 
obvious:  they  are  material;  because,  when  you  see  a  witness  running  into 
every  hole  and  corner  of  falsehood,  and,  as  fast  as  he  is  made  to  bolt  out  of 
one,  taking  cover  in  another,  you  will  never  give  credit  to  what  that  man 
relates,  as  to  any  possible  matter  which  is  to  affect  the  life  or  reputation  of  a 
fellow-citizen  accused  before  you.  God  forbid  that  you  should." 

3.  Finally,  when  there  is  more  than  one  witness  to  the  same 
facts,  the  different  testimonies  are  carefully  compared  together. 
If  there  are  such  grave  discrepancies  between  them  that  all  cannot 
be  true,  resort  must  be  had  to  comparison  of  the  characters  and 
motives  of  witnesses,  as  already  illustrated.  If  the  testimonies 


412  AH  G  UMENTA  T10N. 

agree  in  all  essential  particulars,  the  presumption  of  their  substan- 
tial truth  is  strong.  It  is  not  to  be  expected,  however,  that  there 
should  be  complete  concurrence  in  minute  and  secondary  details ; 
differences  in  points  of  view  and  observing  powers  of  witnesses 
would  preclude  that.  Accordingly,  if  the  agreement  is  too  minute, 
the  testimony  is  weakened ;  because  it  indicates  that  there  must 
have  been  some  previous  collusion  between  the  witnesses  to  manu- 
facture a  consistent  story.1 

ILLUSTRATION.  —  Some  years  ago  Professor  Greenleaf,  of  the  Harvard  Law 
School,  published  an  "  Examination  of  the  Testimony  of  the  Four  Evangelists, 
by  the  Rules  of  Evidence  administered  in  Courts  of  Justice."  The  following 
is  quoted  from  his  remarks  on  the  substantial  agreement  of  their  reports :  — 

"  In  the  third  place,  as  to  their  number  and  the  consistency  of  their  testi- 
mony. The  character  of  their  narratives  is  like  that  of  all  other  true  wit- 
nesses, containing,  as  Dr.  Paley  observes,  substantial  truth,  under  circumstan- 
tial variety.  There  is  enough  of  discrepancy  to  show  that  there  could  have 
been  no  previous  concert  among  them;  and  at  the  same  time  such  substantial 
agreement  as  to  show  that  they  all  were  independent  narrators  of  the  same 
great  transaction,  as  the  events  actually  occurred.  .  .  .  The  discrepancies 
between  the  narratives  of  the  several  evangelists,  when  carefully  examined, 
will  not  be  found  sufficient  to  invalidate  their  testimony.  Many  seeming  con- 
tradictions will  prove,  upon  closer  scrutiny,  to  be  in  substantial  agreement; 
and  it  may  be  confidently  asserted  that  there  are  none  that  will  not  yield, 
under  fair  and  just  criticism.  If  these  different  accounts  of  the  same  transac- 
tions were  in  strict  verbal  conformity  with  each  other,  the  argument  against 
their  credibility  would  be  much  stronger.  All  that  is  asked  for  these  witnesses 
is,  that  their  testimony  may  be  regarded  as  we  regard  the  testimony  of  men  in 
the  ordinary  affairs  of  life.  This  they  are  justly  entitled  to;  and  this  no 
honorable  adversary  can  refuse.  ...  If  the  evidence  of  the  evangelists  is  to 
be  rejected  because  of  a  few  discrepancies  among  them,  we  shall  be  obliged 
to  discard  that  of  many  of  the  contemporaneous  histories  on  which  we  are 
accustomed  to  rely.  Dr.  Paley  has  noticed  the  contradiction  between  Lord 
Clarendon  and  Burnet  and  others  in  regard  to  Lord  Strafford's  execution; 
the  former  stating  that  he  was  condemned  to  be  hanged,  which  was  done  on 
the  same  day;  and  the  latter  all  relating  that  on  a  Saturday  he  was  sentenced 
to  the  block,  and  was  beheaded  on  the  following  Monday.  Another  striking 
instance  of  discrepancy  has  since  occurred,  in  the  narratives  of  the  different 
members  of  the  royal  family  of  France,  of  their  flight  from  Paris  to  Varennes, 

1  See  Campbell's  "  Philosophy  of  Rhetoric,"  pp.  76-78. 


ARC  UMENTA  TION.  413 

in  1792.  These  narratives,  ten  in  number,  and  by  eye-witnesses  and  personal 
actors  in  the  transactions  they  relate,  contradict  each  other,  some  on  trivial 
and  some  on  more  essential  points,  but  in  every  case  in  a  wonderful  and  inex- 
plicable manner.  Yet  these  contradictions  do  not,  in  the  general  public 
estimation,  detract  from  the  integrity  of  the  narrators,  nor  from  the  credibility 
of  their  relations.  In  the  points  in  which  they  agree,  and  which  constitute 
the  great  body  of  their  narratives,  their  testimony  is  of  course  not  doubted; 
where  they  differ,  we  reconcile  them  as  well  as  we  may;  and  where  this  cannot 
be  done  at  all,  we  follow  that  light  which  seems  to  us  the  clearest." 

Authority. — An  important  distinction  is  to  be  made  between 
testimony  as  to  matters  of  observation  and  testimony  as  to  matters 
of  opinion.  In  estimating  the  former  we  have  regard  to  the  wit- 
ness's honesty  and  capability  to  observe  ;  in  estimating  the  latter, 
we  take  into  account  his  soundness  of  judgment  and  the  special 
knowledge  or  skill  that  enables  him  to  form  a  true  opinion.  And 
these  qualities  make  him  more  than  an  observer ;  he  is  a  gener- 
alizer ;  and  what  he  says  is  to  be  taken  as  something  that  only 
specially  qualified  persons  are  competent  to  assert, —  that  is,  as 
authority. 

NOTE. — Archbishop  Whately1  thus  states  and  illustrates  this  distinction 
between  observation  and  opinion :  — 

"  When  the  question  is  as  to  a  Fact,  it  is  plain  we  have  to  look  chiefly  to 
the  honesty  of  a  witness,  his  accuracy,  and  his  means  of  gaining  information. 
When  the  question  is  about  a  matter  of  Opinion,  it  is  equally  plain  that  his 
ability  to  form  judgment  is  no  less  to  be  taken  into  account.  But  though  this 
is  admitted  by  all,  it  is  very  common  with  inconsiderate  persons  to  overlook, 
in  practice,  the  distinction,  and  to  mistake  as  to  what  it  is,  that,  in  each  case, 
is  attested.  Facts,  properly  so  called,  are,  we  should  remember,  individuals ; 
though  the  term  is  often  extended  to  general  statements;  especially  when 
these  are  well  established.2  And  again  the  causes  or  other  circumstances  con- 

1  Whately,  "  Elements  of  Rhetoric,"  p.  81. 

2  Here  it  seems  much  more  accurate,  in  opposition  to  Dr.  Whately,  to  take  t 
term  fact  in  its  more  extended  application.     That  a  certain  stratum  constantly 
bears  coal  is  as  truly  a  fact  as  that  it  bears  coal  in  one  place;  though  the  gen, 
fact  is  not  verified  in  the  same  way  as  the  individual.    It  would  have  been  mud 
more  philosophical  if  the  author  had  made  his  antithesis  not  between  fa* 
Opinion  but  between  observation  and  opinion. 


414  ARC  U ME  NT  A  TION. 

nected  with  some  event  or  phenomenon,  are  often  stated  as  a  part  of  the  very 
fact  attested.  If  for  instance,  a  person  relates  his  having  found  coal  in  a  cer- 
tain stratum;  or  if  he  states,  that  in  the  East  Indies  he  saw  a  number  of  per- 
sons who  had  been  sleeping  exposed  to  the  moon's  rays,  afflicted  with  certain 
symptoms,  and  that  after  taking  a  certain  medicine  they  recovered,  —  he  is 
bearing  testimony  as  to  simple  matters  of  fact:  but  if  he  declares  that  the 
stratum  in  question  constantly  contains  coal;  — or,  that  the  patients  in  ques- 
tion were  so  affected  in  consequence  of  the  moon's  rays,  —  that  such  is  the 
general  effect  of  them  in  that  climate,  and  that  that  medicine  is  a  cure  for 
such  symptoms,  it  is  evident  that  his  testimony  —  however  worthy  of  credit  — 
is  borne  to  a  different  kind  of  conclusion  ;  namely,  not  an  individual,  but  a 
general,  conclusion,  and  one  which  must  rest,  not  solely  on  the  veracity,  but 
also  on  the  judgment,  of  the  witness." 

Such  recourse  to  authority  presents  itself  under  two  aspects. 

i.  A  form  of  authority  much  depended  on. in  the  courts  is  what 
is  known  as  the  testimony  of  experts,  that  is,  testimony  not  as  to 
the  actual  facts  in  the  case  but  as  to  such  interpretation  of  facts  as 
could  be  made  only  by  one  specially  educated  in  the  sphere  of 
knowledge  to  which  the  facts  belong.  Thus,  to  be  able  to  say  that 
death  was  due  to  the  administering  of  a  certain  drug  requires  a 
special  knowledge  of  the  workings  of  that  drug,  a  knowledge  so 
generalized  as  to  be  authoritative. 

NOTE.  —  A  writer  on  Expert  Testimony 1  thus  defines  the  principle  of  it :  — 
"  Extra  knowledge  on  questions  of  science,  skill,  trade,  business,  or  other 
matters  requiring  special  knowledge,  qualifies  the  person  thus  informed  to 
give  opinions  in  courts  of  justice;  this  is  contrary  to  the  general  rule  that  the 
witness  must  confine  himself  to  facts,  and  leave  the  conclusion  of  those  facts 
to  be  determined  by  court  or  jury  under  oath.  An  opinion  is  the  judgment 
which  the  mind  forms  on  any  proposition,  statement,  theory,  or  event,  the 
truth  or  falsehood  of  which  is  supported  by  a  degree  of  evidence  that  renders 
it  probable,  but  does  not  constitute  absolute  knowledge,  truth,  or  certainty. 
These  opinions,  or  conclusions  of  judgment,  which  make  up  such  opinions  of 
experts,  are  the  same  in  substance  as  the  verdict  of  a  jury  or  judgment  of  a 
court,  which  is  nothing  more  than  the  opinion  of  such  jury  or  court,  as  to  what 
is  established  by  the  facts  in  the  case.  This  conclusion  or  opinion,  in  the 
latter  case,  is  given  under  the  sanction  of  an  oath;  so  is  that  of  the  expert." 

1  Quoted  in  the  Boston  Medical  and  Surgical  Journal,  Vol.  CXV.  p.  494. 


AR  G  UMENTA  TION.  415 

2.  In  every  realm  of  thought  or  doctrine  there  is  recognized  a 
body  of  works  or  documents  to  which  final  appeal  may  be  made, 
or  to  which  at  least  very  great  weight  may  be  ascribed,  as  the  work 
of  men  whose  ability  and  learning  give  them  authority.  Thus,  in 
law,  appeal  is  made  to  the  body  of  recorded  cases  and  precedents, 
with  the  opinions  of  learned  judges ;  in  theology,  reference  is  made 
to  the  Bible ;  in  politics,  to  the  constitution  of  the  nation,  and  to 
the  body  of  enactments ;  in  science,  philosophy,  and  economics, 
to  the  works  and  sayings  of  those  men  who  have  by -study  made 
themselves  a  name  in  that  department  of  thought. 

ILLUSTRATIONS.  —  The  following,  from  Macaulay's  speech  on  Education, 
exemplifies  appeal  to  authority  on  a  political  subject :  — 

"This  being  admitted,  can  it  be  denied  that  the  education  of  the  common 
people  is  a  most  effectual  means  of  securing  our  persons  and  our  property? 
Let  Adam  Smith  answer  that  question  for  me.  His  authority,  always  high,  is, 
on  this  subject,  entitled  to  peculiar  respect,  because  he  extremely  disliked 
busy,  prying,  interfering  governments.  He  was  for  leaving  literature,  arts, 
sciences,  to  take  care  of  themselves.  He  was  not  friendly  to  ecclesiastical 
establishments.  He  was  of  opinion,  that  the  State  ought  not  to  meddle  with 
the  education  of  the  rich.  But  he  has  expressly  told  us  that  a  distinction  is 
to  be  made,  particularly  in  a  commercial  and  highly  civilized  society,  between 
the  education  of  the  rich  and  the  education  of  the  poor.  The  education  of 
the  poor,  he  says,  is  a  matter  which  deeply  concerns  the  commonwealth. 
Just  as  the  magistrate  ought  to  interfere  for  the  purpose  of  preventing  the 
leprosy  from  spreading  among  the  people,  he  ought  to  interfere  for  the  pur- 
pose of  stopping  the  progress  of  the  moral  distempers  which  are  inseparable 
from  ignorance.  Nor  can  this  duty  be  neglected  without  danger  to  the  public 
peace.  If  you  leave  the  multitude  uninstructed,  there  is  serious  risk  that 
religious  animosities  may  produce  the  most  dreadful  disorders.  The  most 
dreadful  disorders !  Those  are  Adam  Smith's  own  words;  and  prophetic  words 
they  were." 

The  following  anecdote  of  Daniel  Webster,  related  by  E.  P.  Whipple,  illus- 
trates not  only  Webster's  weight  of  character,  but  also  the  great  deference 
paid  in  courts  of  justice  to  eminent  authority.  "  Whenever,"  says  Mr.  Whip- 
pie,  "  he  gives  emphasis  to  the  personal  pronoun  the  reader  feels  that  he  had 
as  much  earned  the  right  to  make  his  opinion  an  authority,  as  he  had  earned 
the  right  to  use  the  words  he  employs  to  express  his  ideas  and  sentiments. 
Thus,  in  the  celebrated  Smith  Will  trial,  his  antagonist,  Mr.  Choate,  quoted  a 
decision  of  Lord  Chancellor  Camden.  In  his  reply,  Webster  argued  against 


416  ARC  UMENTA  TION. 

its  validity  as  though  it  were  merely  a  proposition  laid  down  by  Mr.  Choate. 
'  But  it  is  not  mine,  it  is  Lord  Camden's,'  was  the  instant  retort.  Webster 
paused  for  half  a  minute,  and  then,  with  his  eye  fixed  on  the  presiding  judge, 
he  replied  :  '  Lord  Camden  was  a  great  judge;  he  is  respected  by  every  Ameri- 
can, for  he  was  on  our  side  in  the  Revolution;  but,  may  it  please  your  honor, 
/  differ  from  my  Lord  Camden.'  There  was  hardly  a  lawyer  in  the  United 
States  who  could  have  made  such  a  statement  without  exposing  himself  to 
ridicule;  but  it  did  not  seem  at  all  ridiculous  when  the 'I' stood  for  Daniel 
Webster." 

II. 

Inference  from  Particulars  :  Induction.  —  The  mere  discovery 
of  facts,  though  indispensable  as  a  basis  of  knowledge,  remains 
ordinarily  but  the  first  process  in  arriving  at  truth.  It  is  for  an 
ulterior  purpose  that  such  pains  are  taken  and  such  tests  employed 
in  obtaining  details.  The  facts  thus  discovered  are  to  be  put 
together,  and  from  them  inferences  are  to  be  drawn,  either  of 
other  particular  facts  yet  unknown,  or  of  general  truths  to  which 
all  the  details  have  relation.  Such  inference  from  particulars  is 
called  Induction. 

The  basis  of  the  inductive  argument,  in  any  of  its  forms,  is  the 
hypothesis.  By  this  we  mean  a  provisional  conclusion,  or  theory, 
adopted  to  account  for  the  various  related  facts  whose  explanation 
is  sought.  Thus,  in  accounting  for  a  death  by  violence,  the  most 
reasonable  hypothesis  may  seem  to  be  that  the  deceased  committed 
suicide ;  adopting  this  provisionally,  then,  and  carefully  scrutiniz- 
ing all  the  facts  and  indications  known  to  us,  we  are  finally  either 
fully  confirmed  in  our  theory,  or  compelled  to  abandon  it  as  un- 
tenable and  adopt  a  new  one.  Induction  is  thus  a  conjecture 
confirmed  by  facts  that  render  it  probable ;  sometimes  it  is  the 
resultant  of  a  series  of  conjectures  tried  and  modified  until  a 
hypothesis  is  found  which  accounts  for  all  the  facts. 

The  particulars  from  which  the  induction  is  made  are  not  to  be 
regarded  as  proofs  of  the  conclusion  ;  they  are  merely  indications, 
good  as  far  as  they  go,  and  some  going  further  than  others,  to  show 
that  such  a  conclusion  is  probable.  Thus,  the  redness  of  the  even- 


AR  G  UMENTA  TION.  417 

ing  sky  is  a  commonly  accepted  indication,  but  not  a  proof,  that 
the  weather  will  be  fair  to-morrow ;  the  weight  of  the  atmosphere, 
as  shown  by  the  barometer,  is  another  indication,  but  not  a  proof; 
the  two  indications  taken  together  make  fair  weather  probable,  and 
more  probable  than  one  indication  alone  would  do ;  but  still  they 
do  not  prove  fair  weather.  A  large  number  of  indications  would 
put  the  conjectured  fact  beyond  reasonable  doubt,  and  still  more 
certain  it  would  be  if  in  a  long  series  of  observations  these  phe- 
nomena were  followed,  without  exception,  by  fair  weather.  Thus 
in  time  this  conjunction  of  facts  might  come  to  be  regarded  as  in- 
variable, and  even  treated  as  a  general  law ;  still,  strictly  speaking, 
it  is  only  a  probable  conclusion,  not  absolute,  and  its  certainty 
depends  on  the  completeness  of  the  induction.  This  points  to  the 
great  source  of  error  against  which  the  inductive  reasoner  needs 
to  guard  himself,  —  namely,  too  hasty  inference  from  insufficient 
data.  His  true  attitude  is  caution,  patience,  and  accuracy. 

It  is  obvious  that  the  indications  that  constitute  the  premises  of 
an  induction  may  have  very  different  degrees  of  conclusiveness. 
Some  may  be  so  slight  and  indirect  as  to  have  no  real  value  alone, 
but  only  in  connection  with  stronger  ones ;  others  may  have  so 
determinative  a  connection  with  the  conclusion  as  almost  of  them- 
selves to  amount  to  proof.  The  strong  indications  are  evidently 
the  backbone  of  an  inductive  argument ;  to  be  sought  therefore 
first  of  all,  while  others  are  to  be  regarded  as  merely  corrobora- 
tive. 

The  following  are  the  principal  forms  of  inductive  argument, 
given  in  the  order  of  their  conclusiveness. 

When  the  Particulars  constitute  actual  Cause  or  Effect:  a 
Priori  and  a  Posteriori. — The  most  decisive  indications,  and 
therefore  the  most  valuable,  are  those  which  are  connected  with 
the  conclusion  as  its  cause  or  effect.  Having  ascertained  the  ex- 
istence of  the  one,  we  take  the  other  very  naturally  as  our  conclu- 
sion, which  we  say  is  thus  rendered  antecedently  probable.  Such 
an  indication  is  therefore  generally  the  first  sought. 

The  kind  of  argument  that  accounts  for  an  effect  by  finding  its 


418  ARGUMENTA  TION. 

cause,  is  called  a  priori.  The  kind  of  argument  that  infers  a  yet 
unknown  cause  from  observed  facts  recognized  as  effects  is  called 
a  posteriori. 

EXAMPLES.  —  I.  If  for  instance  a  crime  has  been  committed  and  a  certain 
person  is  suspected  of  it,  inquiry  is  made  as  to  his  supposable  motive.  If  a 
motive  is  discovered  strong  enough,  with  his  known  character,  to  constitute  a 
real  cause,  that  is,  to  impel  him  to  the  crime,  his  authorship  of  the  deed  is 
made  probable.  The  following,  from  Daniel  Webster,  is  an  example :  — 

"Joseph  Knapp  had  a  motive  to  desire  the  death  of  Mr.  White,  and  that 
motive  has  been  shown.  He  was  connected  by  marriage  with  the  family  of 
Mr.  White.  His  wife  was  the  daughter  of  Mrs.  Beckford,  who  was  the  only 
child  of  a  sister  of  the  deceased.  The  deceased  was  more  than  eighty  years 
old,  and  had  no  children.  His  only  heirs  were  nephews  and  nieces.  He  was 
supposed  to  be  possessed  of  a  very  large  fortune,  which  would  have  descended, 
by  law,  to  his  several  nephews  and  nieces  in  equal  shares  ;  or,  if  there  was  a 
will,  then  according  to  the  will.  But  as  he  had  but  two  branches  of  heirs,  the 
children  of  his  brother,  Henry  White,  and  of  Mrs.  Beckford,  each  of  these 
branches,  according  to  the  common  idea,  would  have  shared  one  half  of  his 
property.  This  popular  idea  is  not  legally  correct.  But  it  is  common,  and 
very  probably  was  entertained  by  the  parties.  According  to  this  idea,  Mrs. 
Beckford,  on  Mr.  White's  death  without  a  will,  would  have  been  entitled  to  one 
half  of  his  ample  fortune  ;  and  Joseph  Knapp  had  married  one  of  her  three 
children." 

2.  A  good  instance  of  arguing  from  an  observed  effect  to  an  unknown 
cause  is  found  in  the  induction  by  which  the  planet  Neptune  was  discovered. 
The  following,  from  Johnson's  Cyclopoedia,  is  a  partial  account  of  it :  — 

"The  discovery  of  this  planet  is  justly  regarded  as  the  most  remarkable 
astronomical  achievement  of  the  century.  Up  to  about  the  beginning  of  the 
present  century  it  was  found  that  the  motions  of  all  the  planets  could  be  per- 
fectly accounted  for  by  the  attraction  of  the  sun  and  their  mutual  attraction  on 
each  other.  But  when,  about  1820,  Banvard  proceeded  to  construct  tables  of 
Uranus,  then  the  outermost  known  planet,  an  apparent  exception  presented 
itself,  and  the  observations  could  not  be  reconciled  with  the  motions  computed 
from  the  attraction  of  the  sun,  Jupiter,  and  Saturn.  ...  It  was  soon  found 
that  the  planet  began  to  deviate  from  the  tables  much  more  rapidly  than  could 
be  accounted  for  by  the  necessary  uncertainty  of  the  data  on  which  the  tables 
were  founded.  The  cause  of  this  deviation  was  a  subject  of  consideration 
among  astronomers,  and  it  seems  to  have  occurred  to  several  that  it  might  be 
due  to  the  action  of  an  unknown  planet  beyond  Uranus.  But  the  problem 
of  finding  this  planet  was  one  which  for  some  time  no  one  ventured  to  attack." 


AR  G  UMENTA  TION.  419 

The  account,  which  is  too  long  to  quote  further,  goes  on  to  show  that  two 
observers,  Adams  and  Leverrier,  taking  these  ascertained  effects  as  the  basis 
of  mathematical  computations,  located  the  position  of  the  supposed  planet, 
which  thereafter  was  actually  discovered  in  its  place  according  to  their  pre- 
dictions. 

Caution  is  needed  not  to  estimate  too  highly  the  antecedent 
probability  established  by  an  a  priori  argument.  It  is  safer  to 
underestimate  than  to  overestimate  it.  To  be  conclusive,  an 
argument  of  this  kind  must  show 

That  an  actual  cause  exists ; 

That  it  is  sufficient  to  produce  the  effect  contemplated ; 

That  there  are  no  opposing  circumstances  sufficient  to  counter- 
act it. 

NOTE.  —  The  motive  ascribed  in  the  quotation  from  Webster  above,  for 
instance,  ought  not  to  be  regarded  as  sufficient  in  itself  to  prove  the  prisoner's 
guilt :  he  must  be  shown  to  have  possessed  an  unscrupulous  character,  and 
positive  circumstances  must  be  adduced  to  corroborate  what  at  this  stage  is 
only  one  element  of  probability.  It  may  be  a  cause,  but  it  is  not  a  sufficient 
cause. 

When  the  Particulars  are  merely  Accompaniments :  Circum- 
stantial Evidence.  —  Indications  ordinarily  less  conclusive  singly 
than  the  preceding,  but  which  may  be  accumulated  until  together 
they  create  a  high  probability,  are  those  which  give  accompa- 
nying circumstances,  which  are  taken  as  signs 1  of  the  conclusion 
though  not  determinatively  connected  with  it.  Thus,  redness  of 
the  evening  sky  is  no  cause  of  fair  weather ;  it  is  only  a  circum- 
stance that  accompanies  such  a  state  of  the  atmosphere  as  pro- 
duces fair  weather. 

The  accumulation  of  such  secondary  signs  toward  the  decision 

l  Arguments  of  this  kind  are  technically  called  Arguments  from  Sign,  which 
term  is  sometimes  used  in  a  narrow  sense,  to  designate  arguments  from  circum- 
stance, but  oftener,  and  more  properly,  to  designate  any  form  of  inference  from 
particulars.  Sometimes,  indeed,  the  term  has  been  taken  to  include  also  testimony. 
the  existence  of  the  testimony  being  regarded  as  a  sign  of  the  thing  testified ;  but 
this  vague  use  of  it  seems  to  me  merely  the  shift  of  one  who  is  in  straits  for  a  clas- 
sification. 


420  ARC  UMENTA  TION. 

of  a  case  is  called  Circumstantial  Evidence,  and  is  ordinarily 
regarded  .as  not  fully  conclusive  without  additional  indications, 
of  cause  or  motive,  or  some  evidence  more  positive.  The  con- 
viction of  a  criminal  on  circumstantial  evidence  alone  is  quite 
exceptional. 

EXAMPLE.  —  The  following  paragraph,  from  the  same  plea  quoted  from 
Webster  above,  recounts  the  circumstances  that  go  to  show  that  Joseph  White 
was  murdered  not  by  a  single  person  but  by  several  conspirators :  — 

"  Let  me  ask  your  attention,  in  the  first  place,  to  those  appearances,  on  the 
morning  after  the  murder,  which  have  a  tendency  to  show  that  it  was  done  in 
pursuance  of  a  preconcerted  plan  of  operation.  What  are  they?  A  man  was 
found  murdered  in  his  bed.  No  stranger  had  done  the  deed,  no  one  unac- 
quainted with  the  house  had  done  it.  It  was  apparent  that  somebody  within 
had  opened,  and  that  somebody  without  had  entered.  There  had  obviously 
and  certainly  been  concert  and  cooperation.  The  inmates  of  the  house  were 
not  alarmed  when  the  murder  was  perpetrated.  The  assassin  had  entered 
without  any  riot  or  any  violence.  He  had  found  the  way  prepared  before 
him.  The  house  had  been  previously  opened.  The  window  was  unbarred 
from  within,  and  its  fastening  unscrewed.  There  was  a  lock  on  the  door 
of  the  chamber  in  which  Mr.  White  slept,  but  the  key  was  gone.  It  had  been 
taken  away  and  secreted.  The  footsteps  of  the  murderer  were  visible,  out- 
doors, tending  toward  the  window.  The  plank  by  which  he  entered  the 
window  still  remained.  The  road  he  pursued  had  been  thus  prepared  for  him. 
The  victim  was  slain,  and  the  murderer  had  escaped.  Every  thing  indicated 
that  somebody  within  had  cooperated  with  somebody  without.  Every  thing 
proclaimed  that  some  of  the  inmates,  or  somebody  having  access  to  the  house, 
had  had  a  hand  in  the  murder.  On  the  face  of  the  circumstances,  it  was 
apparent,  therefore,  that  this  was  a  premeditated,  concerted  murder ;  that 
there  had  been  a  conspiracy  to  commit  it." 

When  the  Particulars  establish  a  Parallel  State  of  Things : 
Example  and  Analogy.  —  A  third  class  of  inductive  indications 
are  those  which  are  drawn  from  some  parallel  state  of  things  in 
other  relations.  Thus,  from  what  has  occurred  in  the  past  we 
argue  to  what  under  similar  conditions  will  occur  in  the  future ; 
or  from  what  has  taken  place  under  a  certain  set  of  conditions  we 
conjecture  that  an  analogous  thing  will  take  place  under  a  similar 
set  of  conditions  elsewhere.  The  use  of  indications  of  this  kind 
gives  rise  to  the  arguments  from  example  and  analogy. 


AR  G  UMENTA  TION.  421 

i.  The  argument  from  example  takes  instances  of  what  has 
occurred  at  other  times  or  in  other  places,  as  indication  of  what 
may  be  expected  to  occur  again.  To  be  of  value,  an  example 
must  reveal  not  only  a  parallel  state  of  things  but  conditions  also, 
parallel  to  what  now  exist.  Further,  examples  should  be  numer- 
ous or  clear  enough  to  make  the  case  more  than  a  coincidence ; 
to  be  conclusive  they  must  establish  a  law. 

EXAMPLE.  —  The  following,  from  Professor  Jevons,  argues  a  future  truth 
from  a  series  of  past  examples :  — 

"  We  may  rely  upon  it  that  indefinite,  and  to  us  inconceivable,  advances 
will  be  made  by  the  human  intellect,  in  the  absence  of  any  unforeseen  catas- 
trophe to  the  species  or  the  globe.  Almost  within  historical  periods  we  can 
trace  the  rise  of  mathematical  science  from  its  simplest  germs.  We  can  prove 
our  descent  from  ancestors  who  counted  only  on  their  fingers,  but  how  almost 
infinitely  is  a  Newton  or  a  Laplace  above  these  simple  savages.  Pythagoras 
is  said  to  have  sacrificed  a  hecatomb  when  he  discovered  the  Forty-seventh 
Proposition  of  Euclid,  and  the  occasion  was  worthy  of  the  sacrifice.  Archi- 
medes was  beside  himself  when  he  first  perceived  his  beautiful  mode  of  deter- 
mining specific  gravities.  Yet  these  great  discoveries  are  the  simplest  ele- 
ments of  our  school-boy  knowledge.  Step  by  step  we  can  trace  upwards  the 
acquirement  of  new  mental  powers.  What  could  be  more  wonderful  and 
unexpected  than  Napier's  discovery  of  logarithms,  a  wholly  new  mode  of 
calculation  which  has  multiplied  perhaps  a  hundred-fold  the  working  powers 
of  every  computer,  and  indeed  has  rendered  easy  calculations  which  were 
before  almost  impracticable.  Since  the  time  of  Newton  and  Leibnitz  whole 
worlds  of  problems  have  been  solved  which  before  were  hardly  conceived  as 
matters  of  inquiry.  In  our  own  day  extended  methods  of  mathematical  rea- 
soning, such  as  the  system  of  quaternions,  have  been  brought  into  existence. 
What  intelligent  man  will  doubt  that  the  recondite  speculations  of  a  Cayley  or 
a  Sylvester  may  possibly  lead  to  some  new  methods,  at  the  simplicity  and 
power  of  which  a  future  age  will  wonder,  and  yet  wonder  more  that  to  us  they 
were  so  dark  and  difficult.  May  we  not  repeat  the  words  of  Seneca :  '  Veniet 
tempus,  quo  ista  quse  nunc  latent,  in  lucem  dies  extrahat,  et  longioris  aevi 
diligentia :  ad  inquisitionem  tantorum  aetas  una  non  sufncit.  Veniet  tempus, 
quo  posteri  nostri  tarn  aperta  nos  nescisse  mirentur.' " 

A  favorite  use  of  the  argument  from  example,  especially  in 
oratory,  is  the  argument  technically  called  a  fortiori,  which  rea- 
sons that  if  a  certain  principle  is  true  in  a  given  case,  much  more 


422  ARC  UMENTA  TION. 

will  it  be  true  in  a  supposed  case  wherein  the  conditions  are  more 

favorable. 

/ 

EXAMPLES.  —  Many  of  the  assertions  of  Scripture  are  put  in  the  form  of  an 
argument  a  fortiori  ;  for  example :  "  Wherefore,  if  God  so  clothe  the  grass  of 
the  field,  which  to-day  is,  and  to-morrow  is  cast  into  the  oven,  shall  he  not 
much  more  clothe  you,  O  ye  of  little  faith  ?  " 

The  following,  from  Burke,  advocates  sympathy  with  the  Irish  Roman 
Catholics,  as  mure  natural  and  fitting,  for  the  English,  than  the  sympathy 
which  was  actually  given  to  the  Americans  in  the  time  of  the  Revolution :  — 

"  I  confess  to  you  freely  that  the  sufferings  and  distresses  of  the  people  of 
America  in  this  cruel  war  have  at  times  affected  me  more  deeply  than  I  can 
express.  I  felt  every  gazette  of  triumph  as  a  blow  upon  my  heart,  which  has 
an  hundred  times  sunk  and  fainted  within  me  at  all  the  mischiefs  brought 
upon  those  who  bear  the  whole  brunt  of  war  in  the  heart  of  their  country. 
Yet  the  Americans  are  utter  strangers  to  me  :  a  nation  among  whom  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  have  a  single  acquaintance.  Was  I  to  suffer  my  mind  to  be  so 
unaccountably  warped,  was  I  to  keep  such  iniquitous  weights  and  measures 
of  temper  and  of  reason,  as  to  sympathize  with  those  who  are  in  open  rebel- 
lion against  an  authority  which  I  respect,  at  war  with  a  country  which  by 
every  title  ought  to  be,  and  is,  most  dear  to  me, —  and  yet  to  have  no  feeling  at 
all  for  the  hardships  and  indignities  suffered  by  men  who  by  their  very  vicinity 
are  bound  up  in  a  nearer  relation  to  us,  who  contribute  their  share,  and  more 
than  their  share,  to  the  common  prosperity,  who  perform  the  common  offices 
of  social  life,  and  who  obey  the  laws,  to  the  full  as  well  as  I  do?" 

2.  The  argument  from  analogy  takes  relations  that  exist  in 
one  sphere  of  life  or  experience  as  indications  of  what  may  be 
regarded  as  true  of  another  sphere  whose  relations  are  similar. 

It  has  been  said  in  a  previous  chapter 1  that  analogy,  while 
valuable  as  a  means  of  exposition,  is  precarious  as  an  argument. 
The  reason  is  that  relations  which  seem  alike  in  different  spheres 
are  so  apt  to  be  merely  accidental  or  fanciful  that,  though  they 
may  present  a  striking  coincidence,  they  do  not  constitute  a  real 
indication.  An  analogy  can  have  the  force  of  an  argument  only 
where  it  can  be  shown  not  only  that  the  relations  are'  alike  but  that 
they  are  due  to  the  same  or  like  causes. 

1  See  preceding,  p.  395. 


AR  G  UMENTA  TION.  423 

EXAMPLES.  —  In  the  following  Cardinal  Newman  argues  from  the  analogy 
of  bodily  health  that  culture  of  the  intellect  is  a  good  in  itself,  apart  from  its 
practical  use :  — 

"  You  will  see  what  I  mean  by  the  parallel  of  bodily  health.  Health  is  a 
good  in  itself,  though  nothing  came  of  it,  and  is  especially  worth  seeking  and 
cherishing  ;  yet,  after  all,  the  blessings  which  attend  its  presence  are  so 
great,  while  they  are  so  close  to  it  and  so  redound  back  upon  it  and  encircle 
it,  that  we  never  think  of  it  except  as  useful  as  well  as  good,  and  praise  and 
prize  it  for  what  it  does,  as  well  as  for  what  it  is,  though  at  the  same  time  we 
cannot  point  out  any  definite  and  distinct  work  or  production  which  it  can  be 
said  to  effect.  And  so  as  regards  intellectual  culture,  I  am  far  from  denying 
utility  in  this  large  sense  as  the  end  of  Education,  when  I  lay  it  down,  that 
the  culture  of  the  intellect  is  a  good  in  itself  and  its  own  end ;  I  do  not 
exclude  from  the  idea  of  intellectual  culture  what  it  cannot  but  be,  from  the 
very  nature  of  things  ;  I  only  deny  that  we  must  be  able  to  point  out,  before 
we  have  any  right  to  call  it  useful,  some  art,  or  business,  or  profession,  or 
trade,  or  work,  as  resulting  from  it,  and  as  its  real  and  complete  end.  The 
parallel  is  exact :  —  As  the  body  may  be  sacrificed  to  some  manual  or  other 
toil,  whether  moderate  or  oppressive,  so  may  the  intellect  be  devoted  to  some 
specific  profession  ;  and  I  do  not  call  this  the  culture  of  the  intellect.  Again, 
as  some  member  or  organ  of  the  body  may  be  inordinately  used  and  developed, 
so  may  memory,  or  imagination,  or  the  reasoning  faculty;  and  this  again  is 
not  intellectual  culture.  On  the  other  hand,  as  the  body  may  be  tended,  cher- 
ished, and  exercised  with  a  simple  view  to  its  general  health,  so  may  the  intel- 
lect also  be  generally  exercised  in  order  to  its  perfect  state  ;  and  this  is  its 
cultivation." 

Example  and  analogy  are  of  value  mainly  in  those  cases  where 
the  parallel  conditions  are  broad  and  easily  traced,  and  where  the 
object  is  to  make  an  argument  at  once  simple  and  impressive. 
They  are  best  applied  to  those  general  truths  which  do  not  require 
to  be  verified  so  much  as  to  be  illustrated ;  their  office,  even  in 
argument,  is  mainly  expository.  Hence  we  find  them  most  em- 
ployed in  enforcing  the  large  and  cogent  principles  of  conduct, 
polity,  morals,  practical  life ;  oratory  is  their  most  congenial  field. 
Of  example  Burke  says  that  it  is  "the  only  argument  of  effect  in 
civil  life."  Its  power  in  its  proper  field  is  due  to  the  fact  that,  as 
Burke  asserts  in  another  place,  "example  is  the  school  of  man- 
kind, and  they  will  learn  at  no  other." 


424  AR  G  UMENTA  TION. 

III. 

Inference  from  Generals:  Deduction. — Our  knowledge  of  the 
world  and  of  life  is  not  wholly  dependent  on  discovery  of  indi- 
vidual facts  and  on  inferences  drawn  by  induction  from  them.  A 
long  history  of  such  inferences  has  developed  in  us  an  insight  for 
general  conclusions ;  for  truths  which,  though  the  result  of  induc- 
tion, are  accepted  as  beyond  the  need  of  that  process  for  con- 
firmation; truths  which  our  long  experience  of  them  has  made 
practically  self-evident.  When  one  of  these  general  truths  is  made 
the  basis  of  an  argument,  and  from  it  is  inferred  another  truth, 
general  or  particular,  the  process  is  called  Deduction. 

As  to  its  principle,  the  deductive  argument  may  be  briefly 
defined  as  the  proof  of  truth  by  premise  and  conclusion. 

A  premise  (from  pramitto,  to  send  before)  is  a  preliminary  fact, 
judgment,  or  principle,  laid  down  as  ground  for  holding  that  some- 
thing else  is  true,  which  latter  is  called  the  conclusion.  Thus,  if 
we  predict  that  there  will  be  fair  weather  to-morrow  because  the 
sky  this  evening  is  red,  we  take  the  present  fact  of  redness  as  our 
premise  for  concluding  what  to-morrow's  weather  will  be.1 

The  Syllogism. — The   basis   of   deductive   reasoning,    which 
indeed  is  more  or  less  implicated  as  a  norm  in  all  processes  of 
argumentation,  is  the  syllogism.     This  consists  of  three  parts  :   the 
major  premise,  which  is  a  general  truth  laid  down  as  the  ground 
for  holding  that  something  else  is  true ;  the  minor  premise,  which 
identifies  that  something  with  the  general  truth  of  the  major ;  and 
finally,  the  conclusion,  which  draws  the  inference  apparent  in  the 
relation  of  the  two  premises.     To  illustrate  by  an  example  :  — 
Major  premise  :    All  men  are  mortal. 
Minor  premise  :    Augustus  is  a  man. 
Conclusion  :   Therefore,  Augustus  is  mortal. 

1  The  use  of  this  same  fact  on  page  416  as  a  particular  from  which  to  build  an 
induction,  shows  that  premises  enter  as  truly  into  inductive  arguments  as  into 
deductive.  In  popular  usage,  however,  we  do  not  call  such  a  fact  a  premise  so 
long  as  it  is  regarded  as  a  mere  indication,  among  others,  to  determine  an  hypothe- 
sis ;  to  be  called  a  premise  a  truth  must  be  significant  enough  to  be  in  itself  a  reason 
for  the  conclusion. 


ARGUMENTATION.  425 

Such  is  the  syllogism  in  its  bald  logical  form,  the  inner  frame- 
work of  every  argument  that  is  founded  on  a  general  principle. 
To  keep  this  framework  in  mind,  therefore,  in  every  process  of 
reasoning,  and  to  separate  it  clearly  in  thought  from  the  various 
elements  that  tend  to  obscure  it,  is  the  surest  guarantee  of  a  valid 
argument.  , 

EXAMPLE.  —  The  following,  from  Cardinal  Newman,  shows  how  the  syl- 
logism may  be  used,  and  with  what  rhetorical  modifications  of  expression,  in 
popular  literature :  — 

"  It  is  the  fashion  just  now,  as  you  very  well  know,  to  erect  so-called  Uni- 
versities, without  making  any  provision  in  them  at  all  for  Theological  chairs. 
Institutions  of  this  kind  exist  both  here  [Ireland]  and  in  England.  Such  a 
procedure,  though  defended  by  writers  of  the  generation  just  passed  with  much 
plausible  argument  and  not  a  little  wit,  seems  to  me  an  intellectual  absurdity; 
and  my  reason  for  saying  so  runs,  with  whatever  abruptness,  into  the  form 
of  a  syllogism :  —  A  University,  I  should  lay  down,  by  its  very  name  professes 
to  teach  universal  knowledge :  Theology  is  surely  a  branch  of  knowledge : 
how  then  is  it  possible  for  it  to  profess  all  branches  of  knowledge,  and  yet  to 
exclude  from  the  subjects  of  its  teaching  one  which,  to  say  the  least,  is  as 
important  and  as  large  as  any  of  them?  I  do  not  see  that  either  premise 
of  this  argument  is  open  to  exception." 

It  is  seldom,  however,  that  the  syllogism  appears  unmodified  in 
literature.  Various  elements  enter  in  to  cover  up  and  disguise  its 
affirmations ;  and  for  this  reason  the  syllogistic  form  of  argument, 
though  very  simple  in  itself,  is  peculiarly  liable  to  fallacy.  It  is 
important  therefore  to  trace  here  the  principal  modifications  that 
the  syllogism  undergoes  in  literary  usage. 

The  Syllogism  in  Enthymeme.  —  It  is  only  occasionally  neces- 
sary to  express  both  the  premises  of  a  syllogism.  One  of  them 
will  be  obvious  enough  to  be  safely  taken  for  granted.  If  such  is 
the  case  it  would  be  a  literary  disadvantage  to  express  it,  for  it 
would  have  the  flat  and  commonplace  effect  of  a  truism.  Some- 
times the  major  premise  is  thus  omitted,  sometimes  the  minor. 
Thus,  to  illustrate  from  the  syllogism  given  above :  it  is  so  obvi- 
ously true  that  all  men  are  mortal  that  we  may  let  it  go  without 
saying,  and  assert  that  Augustus  will  die  because  he  is  a  man,— 


426  A  R  G  UMENTA  TION. 

thus  omitting  the  major  premise.  Or  again,  the  fact  that  Augus- 
tus is  a  man  is  so  evident  a  truism  that  we  may  say  Augustus  will 
die  because  all  men  are  mortal, — thus  omitting  the  minor  premise. 
A  syllogism  with  one  of  its  premises  suppressed  is  technically  called 
an  enthymeme.1 

Arguments  with  a  premise  taken  for  granted  are  very  common. 
"  Nature  sufficiently  prompts  all  men,"  says  De  Quincey,  "  to  that 
sort  of  ellipsis."  It  may  be  said  generally,  that  whenever  an  asser- 
tion is  made  with  the  reason  for  it  (because  so-and-so),  or  when- 
ever an  assertion  is  made  with  an  inference  from  it  (therefore 
so-and-so),  there  is  pretty  sure  to  be  involved  a  syllogism,  in  which 
one  premise  is  assumed  as  unquestionable. 

EXAMPLES.  —  I .  The  following,  from  Charles  James  Fox,  exhibits  how  a 
syllogistic  argument  may  be  involved  in  a  statement  with  its  reason :  — 

"  I  have  always  deprecated  universal  suffrage,  not  so  much  on  account  of 
the  confusion  to  which  it  would  lead,  as  because  I  think  that  we  should 
in  reality  lose  the  very  object  which  we  desire  to  obtain;  because  I  think 
it  would,  in  its  nature,  embarrass  and  prevent  the  deliberative  voice  of  the 
country  from  being  heard.  I  do  not  think  that  you  augment  the  deliberative 
body  of  the  people  by  counting  all  the  heads;  but  that,  in  truth,  you  confer 
on  individuals,  by  this  means,  the  power  of  drawing  forth  numbers,  who, 
without  deliberation,  would  implicitly  act  upon  their  will." 

The  syllogism  involved  in  this  argument  may  be  expressed  thus :  — 

Major  premise  :  Whatever  enables  demagogues  to  wield  an  undeliberative 
mass  of  men  as  a  power  in  the  state  is  to  be  deprecated. 

Minor  premise .'  Universal  suffrage  confers  such  ability. 

Conclusion :  Hence,  universal  suffrage  is  to  be  deprecated. 

2.  The  following,  from  Canon  Mozley,  exhibits  how  a  syllogism  may  be 
involved  in  a  statement  with  its  inference :  — 

"  Generosity  is  more  tried  by  an  equal  than  it  is  by  an  inferior,  for  the 
same  reason  that  it  is  so  with  humility  —  viz.,  that  you  are  in  competition 
with  your  equals,  and  not  in  competition  with  your  inferiors.  We  know  that 
the  great  obstruction  to  generosity  in  our  nature  is  jealousy  —  at  least  with 
regard  to  such  advantages  as  touch  our  pride.  It  would  be  easy  to  be  gener- 

1  Such  is  the  formal  and  technical  use  of  the  term.  As  applied  to  the  subject- 
matter  of  arguments,  however,  De  Quincey  broadens  the  signification  of  it  to  denote 
those  probable  truths  and  reasons  which  are  the  proper  material  of  persuasion ; 
see  his  Essay  on  "  Rhetoric." 


ARGUMENTATION.  427 

ous  to  the  intellectual  claims  of  other  people,  to  their  merits,  to  their  char- 
acter, were  there  no  element  of  jealousy  in  ourselves.  But  compassion  is 
relieved  from  this  trial;  compassion  cannot  be  jealous;  its  work  is  with  one 
who  lies  at  its  feet,  who  deprecates  the  slightest  comparison.  How  generous 
then  will  a  man  be  to  the  fallen;  but  let  the  man  get  on  his  legs  again,  and 
it  will  sometimes  be  hard  to  him  who  has  been  so  superabundantly  generous 
even  to  be  barely  just.  It  is  thus  that  generosity  to  an  equal  is  more  difficult 
than  generosity  to  an  inferior." 

The  syllogism  here  involved  may  be  expressed  thus :  — 

Major  premise  :  Where  jealousy  is  prevalent  generosity  is  peculiarly  hard. 

Minor  premise  :  Jealousy  is  prevalent  in  the  relation  between  equals. 

Conclusion  :  Hence,  generosity  to  equals  is  peculiarly  hard. 

The  Syllogism  amplified. — A  premise  that  is  a  truism  ought 
indeed  to  be  omitted ;  but,  conversely,  no  premise  can  be  safely 
omitted  whose  meaning  or  whose  truth  is  open  to  question.  Ac- 
cordingly we  find  that  when  a  point  is  argued  out  in  full  it  is  as 
much  for  the  purpose  of  establishing  the  premises,  by  exposition 
or  argument,  as  of  establishing  the  conclusion.  In  the  course  of 
an  important  argument  various  subordinate  arguments,  illustrations, 
definitions,  are  introduced  wherever  needed ;  and  thus  the  whole 
line  of  argumentation  may  easily  become  very  complicated. 

The  importance  of  thus  guarding  and  strengthening  the  premises 
of  an  argument  is  very  great.  No  syllogism  is  more  conclusive 
than  its  weakest  premise.  If  then  any  premise  is  left  ill-defined 
and  ill-considered,  if  it  is  assumed  as  unquestionable  when  in 
reality  it  is  lame,  the  whole  argument,  however  keen  the  process 
otherwise,  is  made  in  corresponding  degree  inconclusive.  This 
then  may  be  laid  down  as  a  practical  rule :  Be  careful  of  your 
premises  ;  be  cautious  as  to  what  you  assume. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  syllogism  quoted  from  Cardinal  Newman  on  page  425 
is  given  in  full  in  order  that  its  premises  may  be  taken  up  and  tested  for 
themselves.  Thus,  the  first  premise,  "A  University,  by  its  very  name  pro- 
fesses to  teach  universal  knowledge,"  provokes  the  question,  Is  this  true? 
To  which  the  author  answers,  that  if  we  take  the  term  in  its  popular  sense,  as 
denoting  a  place  where  the  whole  circle  of  knowledge  is  taught,  we  have 
abundant  authority  (from  which  he  quotes  Dr.  Johnson  and  the  historian 
Mosheim)  for  taking  this  as  the  real  definition  of  a  university;  and  if  we  take 


428  AR  G  UMENTA  TION. 

it  in  a  less  prevalent  but  still  occasional  sense,  as  denoting  merely  a  place 
where  invitation  is  given  to  students  of  every  kind,  it  still  comes  to  the  same 
thing,  for  "  if  certain  branches  of  knowledge  were  excluded,  those  students  of 
course  would  be  excluded  also,  who  desired  to  pursue  them." 

The  second  premise,  "Theology  is  a  branch  of  knowledge,"  requires  a 
more  elaborate  proof;  indeed,  the  establishment  of  this  premise,  rather  than 
of  the  conclusion,  is  the  real  object  of  the  discourse.  He  thus  lays  out  the 
argument :  "  But  this,  of  course,  is  to  assume  that  Theology  is  a  science,  and 
an  important  one :  so  I  will  throw  my  argument  into  a  more  exact  form.  I 
say,  then,  that  if  a  University  be,  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  a  place  of 
instruction,  where  universal  knowledge  is  professed,  and  if  in  a  certain  Uni- 
versity, so  called,  the  subject  of  Religion  is  excluded,  one  of  two  conclusions 
is  inevitable,  —  either,  on  the  one  hand,  that  the  province  of  Religion  is  very 
barren  of  real  knowledge,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  that  in  such  University  one 
special  and  important  branch  of  knowledge  is  omitted.  I  say,  the  advocate 
of  such  an  institution  must  say  this,  or  he  must  say  that ;  he  must  own,  either 
that  little  or  nothing  is  known  about  the  Supreme  Being,  or  that  his  seat  of 
learning  calls  itself  what  it  is  not.  This  is  the  thesis  which  I  lay  down, 
and  on  which  I  shall  insist  as  the  subject  of  this  Discourse." 

From  this  point  he  goes  on  to  an  elaborate  proof  that  Theology  is  not  only 
a  science  but  the  most  important  of  all  sciences. 

The  Chain  of  Reasoning.  —  A  frequent  employment  of  the  syl- 
logistic argument,  in  full  or  in  enthymeme,  is,  to  make  one  argu- 
ment whose  conclusion  is  then  taken  as  the  premise  of  a  second, 
and  the  conclusion  of  this  for  a  third,  and  so  on  through  a  succes- 
sion of  steps,  to  a  final  supreme  conclusion.  Such  a  chain  of 
reasoning,  involving  as  it  does  the  thorough  confirmation  of  every 
step,  produces  a  peculiar  effect  of  cogency  and  conclusiveness. 

EXAMPLE.  —  The  following,  from  Professor  Morris's  monograph  on  "  The 
Study  of  Latin  in  the  Preparatory  Course,"  summarizes  such  a  chain  of 
reasoning :  — 

"  I  need  only  briefly  recapitulate  the  argument  which  would  be  based 
upon  it. 

"  I.  The  current  thinking,  for  a  share  in  which  we  are  to  be  prepared  in 
college,  is  scientific  in  tone. 

"  2.  The  studies  of  the  advanced  college  course  are  therefore,  whatever  be 
their  subject,  to  be  studied  and  taught  after  scientific  methods. 

"3.  As  a  preparation  for  such  work,  the  student  needs  daily  drill  in  the 
fundamental  scientific  processes. 


ARC  UMENTA  TION.  429 

"  4.  Philology  is  a  science,  and  its  clearness  and  adaptability  to  what  may 
be  called  laboratory  work  recommend  it  strongly  to  a  place  in  the  prepara- 
tory course." 

Each  of  these  propositions  is  a  step  in  a  deductive  argument  involving  the 
syllogistic  form  of  reasoning. 

II.  PROOF  OF  TRUTH  BY  DISPROOF  OF  ERROR. 

The  fact  that  a  subject  is  susceptible  of  argument  indicates  that 
it  has  two  sides,  the  true  and  the  erroneous ;  and  while  generally 
by  the  direct  establishment  of  the  truth  error  falls  of  itself,  there 
are  cases  where  an  indirect  method  has  desirable  advantages,  — 
where  by  attacking  and  destroying  the  error  the  truth  is  left  free 
to  assert  itself. 

This  indirect  means  of  establishing  the  truth  presents  itself  under 
two  main  aspects. 

I. 

By  reducing  the  Issue  to  an  Alternative.  —  Some  questions  are 
of  such  a  nature  as  to  possess  only  a  certain  limited  number  of 
aspects,  of  which  only  one  can  be  true.  If  then  these  aspects  can 
be  so  accurately  determined  as  to  show  unquestionably  for  the 
only  ones,  the  work  of  ascertaining  which  one  is  true  can  be  done 
indirectly  as  well  as  directly.  There  are  several  forms  of  argument 
that  depend  for  their  validity  on  the  principle  of  alternative. 

Reductio  ad  Absurdum.  —  This  argument,  starting  from  a 
single  alternative,  that  is,  that  one  of  two  things  and  only  one 
must  be  true,  shows  that  the  false  side  of  the  alternative,  assumed 
true  for  argument's  sake,  leads  to  conclusions  that  are  manifestly 
untenable. 

As  compared  with  the  direct  form  of  reasoning,  the  reductio  ad 
absurdum  is  likely  to  be  fully  as  strong,  and  sometimes  stronger, 
because  it  shows  not  merely  that  a  thing  may  be  true  but  that  it 
must  be  true.  On  the  other  hand,  the  direct  argument  is  generally 
richer  and  more  satisfying,  because  it  exhibits  the  conclusion  with 
all  the  premises  and  considerations  that  go  to  establish  it. 


430  ARC  UMENTA  TTON. 

EXAMPLES.  —  The  following  example  of  reductio  ad  absurdum  is  taken 
from  Hepburn's  "  Manual  of  Rhetoric  "  :  — 

"  If  the  thesis  is,  Man  is  a  free  agent,  then  the  antithesis  is,  Man  is  not  a 
free  agent.  .  .  .  The  indirect  proof  would  take  some  such  form  as  this :  Man 
is  either  free  or  he  is  not  free.  Let  us  assume  that  he  is  not  free.  If  he  is 
not  free,  he  can  not,  in  cases  of  conflicting  motives,  choose,  but  must  blindly 
follow  one  of  the  impulses.  But  we  know  from  consciousness  that  he  can 
decide  between  conflicting  motives;  therefore  it  is  false  that  he  is  not  free. 
He  must  therefore  be  free." 

The  following  argument,  from  Greenleaf,  to  prove  that  the  testimony  of  the 
Evangelists  is  true,  is  really  a  statement  of  the  absurdities  that  would  follow 
if  it  were  supposed  false  :  — 

"  It  [namely  the  supposition  of  falsehood]  would  also  have  been  irrecon- 
cilable with  the  fact  that  they  were  good  men.  But  it  is  impossible  to  read 
their  writings,  and  not  feel  that  we  are  conversing  with  men  eminently  holy, 
and  of  tender  consciences,  with  men  acting  under  an  abiding  sense  of  the 
presence  and  omniscience  of  God,  and  of  their  accountability  to  him,  living  in 
his  fear,  and  walking  in  his  ways.  Now,  though,  in  a  single  instance,  a  good 
man  may  fall,  when  under  strong  temptations,  yet  he  is  not  found  persisting, 
for  years,  in  deliberate  falsehood,  asserted  with  the  most  solemn  appeals  to 
God,  without  the  slightest  temptation  or  motive,  and  against  all  the  opposing 
interests  which  reign  in  the  human  breast.  If,  on  the  contrary,  they  are 
supposed  to  have  been  bad  men,  it  is  incredible  that  such  men  should  have 
chosen  this  form  of  imposture;  enjoining,  as  it  does,  unfeigned  repentance, 
the  utter  forsaking  and  abhorrence  of  all  falsehood  and  of  every  other  sin,  the 
practice  of  daily  self-denial,  self-abasement  and  self-sacrifice,  the  crucifixion 
of  the  flesh  with  all  its  earthly  appetites  and  desires,  indifference  to  the 
honors,  and  hearty  contempt  of  the  vanities  of  the  world;  and  inculcating 
perfect  purity  of  heart  and  life,  and  intercourse  of  the  soul  with  heaven.  It 
is  incredible,  that  bad  men  should  invent  falsehoods,  to  promote  the  religion 
of  the  God  of  truth.  The  supposition  is  suicidal.  If  they  did  believe  in  a 
future  state  of  retribution,  a  heaven  and  a  hell  hereafter,  they  took  the  most 
certain  course,  if  false  witnesses,  to  secure  the  latter  for  their  portion.  And 
if,  still  being  bad  men,  they  did  not  believe  in  future  punishment,  how  came 
they  to  invent  falsehoods,  the  direct  and  certain  tendency  of  which  was  to 
destroy  all  their  prospects  of  worldly  honor  and  happiness,  and  to  ensure  their 
misery  in  this  life?  From  these  absurdities  there  is  no  escape,  but  in  the  per- 
fect conviction  and  admission  that  they  were  good  men,  testifying  to  that 
which  they  had  carefully  observed  and  considered,  and  well  knew  to  be 
true." 


ARGUMENTATION.  431 

Dilemma.  —  When  the  issue  is  reduced  to  an  alternative  both 
sides  of  which  are  untenable,  the  argument  is  called  a  dilemma, 
and  the  two  sides  are  called  the  horns  of  the  dilemma.  Of  course 
a  dilemma  is  wholly  negative ;  it  tears  down,  but  does  not  build 
up.  If  its  premises  are  admitted  it  is  unanswerable ;  the  only 
recourse,  therefore,  in  the  face  of  it,  is  either  to  abandon  the  posi- 
tion or  to  show  that  the  alternative  was  not  correctly  taken. 

EXAMPLES.  —  In  his  speech  to  the  electors  of  Bristol,  Burke  attacks  the 
.  custom  of  imprisonment  for  debt,  and  its  only  existing  remedy  or  rather  miti- 
gation, Acts  of  Grace,  by  reducing  both  to  dilemmas.  The  first  shows  the 
injustice  of  imprisoning  a  debtor  at  the  will  and  instigation  of  his  creditors :  — 

"The  next  fault  is,  that  the  inflicting  of  that  punishment  is  not  on  the 
opinion  of  an  equal  and  public  judge,  but  is  referred  to  the  arbitrary  discre- 
tion of  a  private,  nay,  interested  and  irritated,  individual.  He  who  formally 
is,  and  substantially  ought  to  be,  the  judge,  is  in  reality  no  more  than  minis- 
terial, a  mere  executive  instrument  of  a  private  man,  who  is  at  once  judge 
and  party.  Every  idea  of  judicial  order  is  subverted  by  this  procedure.  If 
the  insolvency  be  no  crime,  why  is  it  punished  with  arbitrary  imprisonment? 
If  it  be  a  crime,  why  is  it  delivered  into  private  hands  to  pardon  without  dis- 
cretion, or  to  punish  without  mercy  and  without  measure?" 

The  second  dilemma  shows  that  an  Act  of  Grace,  which  is  merely  an 
arbitrary  release  of  debtors  from  prison,  principally,  it  would  seem,  because 
the  prisons  are  overcrowded,  is  equally  opposed  to  justice :  — 

"  If  the  creditor  had  a  right  to  those  carcasses  as  a  natural  security  for 
his  property,  I  am  sure  we  have  no  right  to  deprive  him  of  that  security. 
But  if  the  few  pounds  of  flesh  were  not  necessary  to  his  security,  we  had  not 
a  right  to  detain  the  unfortunate  debtor,  without  any  benefit  at  all  to  the 
person  who  confined  him.  Take  it  as  you  will,  we  commit  injustice." 

The  Method  of  Residues.  —  This  name  is  given  to  that  form  of 
argument  which,  first  enumerating  all  the  possible  aspects  of  the 
question,  then  proceeds  to  eliminate,  one  by  one,  until  only  the 
true  aspect  is  left.  There  is  a  broadness  and  comprehensiveness 
in  this  method  which  make  it  often  a  very  effective  instrument  of 
reasoning. 

For  the  successful  employment  of  this  method  the  alternatives 
should  be  thoroughly  classified  and  limited  hi  number ;  to  clear 
away  too  many  false  positions  complicates  the  argument  and  gives 


432  ARC  UMENTA  TION. 

rise  to  a  feeling  of  insecurity  lest  the  true  state  of  the  case  should, 
after  all,  have  been  overlooked. 

EXAMPLE.  —  A  good  example  of  this  form  of  argument  occurs  in  Burke's 
Speech  on  Conciliation  with  America.  Having  described  the  enthusiastic 
spirit  of  liberty  that  exists  in  the  Colonies,  he  thus  proposes  the  true  method 
of  dealing  with  it :  — 

"  Sir,  If  I  were  capable  of  engaging  you  to  an  equal  attention,  I  would 
state,  that,  as  far  as  I  am  capable  of  discerning,  there  are  but  three  ways  of 
proceeding  relative  to  this  stubborn  Spirit,  which  prevails  in  your  Colonies, 
and  disturbs  your  Government.  These  are  —  To  change  that  Spirit,  as  incon- 
venient, by  removing  the  Causes.  To  prosecute  it  as  criminal.  Or,  to  com- 
ply with  it  as  necessary.  I  would  not  be  guilty  of  an  imperfect  enumeration ; 
I  can  think  of  but  these  three.  Another  has  indeed  been  started,  that  of  giv- 
ing up  the  Colonies;  but  it  met  so  slight  a  reception,  that  I  do  not  think 
myself  obliged  to  dwell  a  great  while  upon  it.  It  is  nothing  but  a  little  sally 
of  anger;  like  the  frowardness  of  feverish  children;  who,  when  they  cannot 
get  all  they  would  have,  are  resolved  to  take  nothing." 

The  first  two  named  of  these  are  then  examined  in  an  argument  of  several 
pages  and  proved  impracticable;  whereupon  he  thus  summarizes:  — 

"  If  then  the  removal  of  the  causes  of  this  Spirit  of  American  Liberty  be, 
for  the  greater  part,  or  rather  entirely,  impracticable;  if  the  ideas  of  Criminal 
Process  be  inapplicable,  or  if  applicable,  are  in  the  highest  degree  inexpedi- 
ent; what  way  yet  remains?  No  way  is  open,  but  the  third  and  last  —  to  com- 
ply with  the  American  Spirit  as  necessary;  or,  if  you  please,  to  submit  to 
it  as  a  necessary  Evil." 

The  event  was,  as  we  know,  that  the  British  nation  would  not  consent  to 
the  conciliation  here  advocated,  and  the  fourth  course  mentioned,  that  of  giv- 
ing up  the  colonies,  had  to  be  submitted  to.  - 

II. 

By  Refutation.  —  Refutation  is  the  opposite  of  confirmation. 
Its  office  is  purely  negative,  being  devoted  to  tearing  down  what  is 
wrongly  held  or  erroneously  argued ;  and  as  such,  it  is  merely  pre- 
paratory, clearing  the  ground  for  a  better  establishment  of  the 
truth  afterward.  It  does  not  prove  truth  therefore ;  though  it 
serves  the  cause  of  truth  by  removing  the  obstacles  that  prevent  a 
fair  view  of  it. 

A  word  may  here  be  said  regarding  the  spirit  in  which  refuta- 


AR  G  UMENTA  TION.  433 

tion  should  be  conducted.  It  is  to  be  remembered  that  the  writer 
is  concerned  ideally  with  the  establishment  of  truth,  not  merely 
with  the  triumph  of  a  cause.  If  argument  in  any  form  is  used  \ 
insincerely  and  for  sophistry,  it  is  perverted  from  its  true  use. 
Refutation,  then,  cannot  always  mean  complete  demolition  of  an 
opponent's  position.  Sometimes  it  can  succeed  only  in  transfer- 
ring the  preponderance  of  probability  to  the  other  side.  It  is 
more  honest,  and  in  the  long  run  really  stronger,  if  it  recognizes 
whatever  truth  exists  on  both  sides,  and  seeks  not  so  much  to  be 
triumphant  as  to  be  fair. 

The  following  are  the  main  features  of  refutation  to  be  noted  in 
literary  argumentation. 

Analysis  of  the  Opposed  Position.  — This  is  of  the  first  impor- 
tance in  refutation.  The  most  prevalent  reason  why  fallacies  creep 
into  arguments  and  mislead  both  reasoner  and  audience  is  that  the 
underlying  processes  and  principles  of  the  thought  are  so  overlaid 
with  repetition,  illustration,  and  digression,  that  its  central  move- 
ment cannot  well  be  discerned ;  in  the  language  of  the  proverb, 
"we  cannot  see  the  wood  for  trees."  Countless  are  the  ways  in 
which  the  argument  may  thus  fail  of  the  exact  and  squarely  encoun- 
tered truth.  It  may,  and  often  does,  involve  false  premises.  Or 
it  may  be  lacking  merely  in  the  right  emphasis  and  perspective, — 
may  put  first  what  should  be  subordinate,  or  ignore  something  that 
is  of  determining  significance  for  the  result.  In  any  case,  the 
needed  preliminary  step  is  analysis :  exact  investigation,  and  if 
need  be  statement,  of  what  the  argument  really  is.1 

The  logical  order  in  which  such  analysis  of  the  opponent's  posi- 
tion may  be  conducted  in  the  following. 

i.  Examine  the  conclusion  and  tendency  of  the  opponent's 
plea.  Oftener  than  not  when  the  principle  that  really  underlies 
an  erroneous  position,  or  the  tendency  that  is  its  natural  outcome, 
is  stripped  of  its  obscuring  verbiage  and  held  up  in  its  true  light, 
no  counter  argument  is  needed ;  it  refutes  itself. 

1  For  general  suggestions  as  to  the  conduct  of  such  analysis,  see  Interpretation, 
in  the  chapter  on  Reproduction  of  the  Thought  of  Others,  pages  302-307. 


434  ARC  UMENTA  TION. 

EXAMPLES.  —  I.  The  following,  from  Burke,  condenses  into  one  epigram- 
matic sentence  the  real  significance  of  what  his  opponent  advocates :  — 

"  He  asserts,  that  retrospect  is  not  wise;  and  the  proper,  the  only  proper, 
subject  of  inquiry,  is  '  not  how  we  got  into  this  difficulty,  but  how  we  are  to 
get  out  of  it.'  In  other  words,  we  are,  according  to  him,  to  consult  our  inven- 
tion, and  to  reject  our  experience.  The  mode  of  deliberation  he  recommends 
is  diametrically  opposite  to  every  rule  of  reason  and  every  principle  of  good 
sense  established  amongst  mankind.  For  that  sense  and  that  reason  I  have 
always  understood  absolutely  to  prescribe,  whenever  we  are  involved  in  diffi- 
culties from  the  measures  we  have  pursued,  that  we  should  take  a  strict 
review  of  those  measures,  in  order  to  correct  our  errors,  if  they  should  be  cor- 
rigible; or  at  least  to  avoid  a  dull  uniformity  in  mischief,  and  the  unpitied 
calamity  of  being  repeatedly  caught  in  the  same  snare." 

2.  The  following,  from  Webster,  portrays  by  a  masterly  chain  of  reasoning 
the  tendency  of  the  position  he  is  refuting :  — 

"  Such,  Sir,  are  the  inevitable  results  of  this  doctrine.  Beginning  with  the 
original  error,  that  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  is  nothing  but  a 
compact  between  sovereign  States;  asserting,  in  the  next  step,  that  each  State 
has  a  right  to  be  its  own.  sole  judge  of  the  extent  of  its  own  obligations, 
and  consequently  of  the  constitutionality  of  laws  of  Congress:  \  in  the 
next,  that  it  may  oppose  whatever  it  sees  fit  to  declare  uncon  .tonal,  and 
that  it  decides  for  itself  on  the  mode  and  measure  of  redress,  —  the  argument 
arrives  at  once  at  the  conclusion,  that  what  a  State  dissents  from,  it  may 
nullify;  what  it  opposes  it  may  oppose  by  force;  what  it  decides  for  itself  it 
may  execute  by  its  own  power;  and  that,  in  short,  it  is  itself  supreme  over  the 
legislation  of  Congress,  and  supreme  over  the  decisions  of  the  national  judica- 
ture; supreme  over  the  constitution  of  the  country,  supreme  over  the  supreme 
law  of  the  land." 

2.  The  next  step,  if  analysis  is  carried  further,  is  to  show  that, 
admitting  the  opponent's  premises,  the  conclusion  he  draws  does 
not  naturally  or- necessarily  follow ;  in  other  words,  that  his  argu- 
ment is  not  logically  constructed.  Such  a  fallacy  in  argument  is 
called  a  non  sequitur. 

EXAMPLE.  —  In  his  refutation  of  the  Nullification  doctrine,  Webster  thus 
shows  that  even  if  the  Constitution  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  mere  compact  be- 
tween sovereign  states,  that  fact  does  not  confer  on  an  individual  state  the 
right  to  nullify  it  at  pleasure :  — 

"  I  have  admitted,  that,  if  the  Constitution  were  to  be  considered  as  the 
creature  of  the  State  governments,  it  might  be  modified,  interpreted,  or  con- 


AR  G  UMENTA  TION.  435 

strued  according 'to  their  pleasure.  But  even  in  that  case,  it  would  be  neces- 
sary that  they  should  agree.  One  alone  could  not  interpret  it  conclusively; 
one  alone  could  not  construe  it;  one  alone  could  not  modify  it  Yet  the  gen- 
tleman's doctrine  is,  that  Carolina  alone  may  construe  and  interpret  that  com- 
pact which  equally  binds  all,  and  gives  equal  rights  to  alL 

"  So,  then,  Sir,  even  supposing  the  Constitution  to  be  a  compact  between  the 
States,  the  gentleman's  doctrine,  nevertheless,  is  not  maintainable;  because, 
first,  the  general  government  is  not  a  party  to  that  compact,  but  a  government 
established  by  it,  and  vested  by  it  with  the  powers  of  trying  and  deciding 
doubtful  questions;  and  secondly,  because,  if  the  Constitution  be  regarded  as 
a  compact,  not  one  State  only,  but  all  the  States,  are  parties  to  that  compact, 
and  one  can  have  no  right  to  fix  upon  it  her  own  peculiar  construction." 

3.  The  next  step,  if  the  erroneous  argument  requires  and  invites 
it,  is  to  attack  the  premises  or  principles  on  which  the  argument  is 
founded.  If  these  can  be  proved  erroneous,  of  course  the  argu- 
ment must  fall. 

EXAMPI .'  -Thus,  Webster  follows  up  the  forecited  refutation  by  retracting 
the  admissiu  at  he  had  made  for  the  purpose  of  argument,  and  showing 
that  even  that  premise  is  untenable :  — 

"  So  much,  Sir,  for  the  argument,  even  if  the  premises  of  the  gentleman 
were  granted,  or  could  be  proved.  But,  Sir,  the  gentleman  has  failed  to  main- 
tain his  leading  proposition.  He  has  not  shown,  it  cannot  be  shown,  that  the 
Constitution  is  a  compact  between  State  governments.  The  Constitution 
itself,  in  its  very  front,  refutes  that  idea;  it  declares  that  it  is  ordained  and 
established  by  the  people  of  the  United  States.  So  far  from  saying  that  it  is 
established  by  the  governments  of  the  several  States,  it  does  not  even  say  that 
it  is  established  by  the  people  of  the  several  States ;  but  it  pronounces  that  it 
is  established  by  the  people  of  the  United  States,  in  the  aggregate.  The  gen- 
tleman says,  it  must  mean  no  more  than  the  people  of  the  several  States. 
Doubtless,  the  people  of  the  several  States,  taken  collectively,  constitute  the 
people  of  the  United  States;  but  it  is  in  this,  their  collective  capacity,  it  is  as 
all  the  people  of  the  United  States,  that  they  establish  the  Constitution.  So 
they  declare;  and  words  cannot  be  plainer  than  the  words  used." 

Some  of  the  ways  in  which  the  premises  or  elements  of  the 
different  forms  of  argument  may  be  attacked  need  here  to  be 
noted  and  illustrated. 

Jn  a  deductive  argument  the  major  premise  is  perhaps  most 


436  ARC  UMENTA  TION. 

carefully  to  be  tested,  because,  being  oftenest  omitted,  it  is  most 
naturally  passed  by  as  unquestionable.  Whereas,  it  may  fail  in  the 
universality  that  is  essential  to  such  a  premise,  or  if  admitted  it 
may  prove  too  much.  It  is  on  these  lines  that  it  is  open  to  refu- 
tation. The  minor  premise  may  be  refuted  by  showing  that  it  is 
not  really  a  case  under  the  general  rule  that  is  laid  down  as  major. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. —  I.  Dr.  Johnson's  famous  retort  to  a  man  of  dishonorable 
calling  who,  on  being  remonstrated  with,  urged  as  if  it  were  an  unquestion- 
able truth,  "  But  a  man  must  live !  "  —  "  Sir,  I  do  not  see  the  necessity  of  it," 
—  is  really  a  denial  of  the  universality  of  a  major  premise,  as  may  be  seen  by 
supplying  the  implicit  syllogism :  '  Whatever  a  man's  calling  tne  world  owes 
him  a  living;  I  am  a  man;  therefore  the  world  owes  me  a  living  irrespective 
of  my  calling.'  The  major  premise  is  not  so  unquestionable  as  it  would 
seem. 

2.  Macaulay,  in  his  refutation  of  the  argument  of  Gladstone's  essay  on 
"  Church  and  State,"  thus  points  out  a  major  premise  that  proves  too  much  : 
"  Mr.  Gladstone's  whole  theory  rests  on  this  great  fundamental  proposition, 
that  the  propagation  of  religious  truth  is  one  of  the  principal  ends  of  govern- 
ment, as  government.  If  Mr.  Gladstone  has  not  proved  this  proposition,  his 
system  vanishes  at  once."  This  is  refuted  by  showing  that  if  true  it  is  as  true 
of  every  body  of  men  organized  for  a  particular  purpose  as  it  is  of  a  govern- 
ment. He  then  makes  this  comment :  "  The  truth  is,  that  Mr.  Gladstone  has 
fallen  into  an  error  very  common  among  men  of  less  talents  than  his  own.  It 
is  not  unusual  for  a  person  who  is  eager  to  prove  a  particular  proposition  to 
assume  a  major  of  huge  extent,  which  includes  that  particular  proposition, 
without  ever  reflecting  that  it  includes  a  great  deal  more.  .  .  .  He  first 
resolves  on  his  conclusion.  He  then  makes  a  major  of  most  comprehensive 
dimensions,  and  having  satisfied  himself  that  it  contains  his  conclusion,  never 
troubles  himself  about  what  else  it  may  contain  :  and  as  soon  as  we  examine 
it  we  find  that  it  contains  an  infinite  number  of  conclusions,  every  one  of 
which  is  a  monstrous  absurdity." 

3.  Webster's  refutation  cited  on  page  434  is  really  a  refutation  of  the  minor 
premise,  as  we  may  see  by  reconstructing  the  syllogism :  '  A  compact  between 
equal  parties  is  subject  to  the  pleasure  of  all  or  each,  to  interpret,  construe,  or 
modify;  The  Constitution  is  such  a  compact  between  equal  and  sovereign 
States;  Hence,  the  Constitution  is  subject  to  the  pleasure  of  the  individual 
States,  to  interpret,  construe,  or  modify.'  This  he  refutes  by  showing  that  it 
is  established  by  the  people,  not  by  the  States  as  such ;  and  in  another  speech 
he  maintains  that  it  is  not,  strictly  speaking,  a  compact. 


ARGUMENTATION.  437 

In  an  inductive  argument  the  inquiry  of  the  refuter  is  whether 
the  circumstances  adduced  are  conclusive  enough,  and  in  sufficient 
number,  to  make  an  adequate  induction.  Is  an  alleged  example 
real,  —  that  is,  does  it  belong  to  a  parallel  state  of  things?  Does 
an  argument  from  analogy  evince  the  working  of  a  cause  that  would 
be  decisive  for  the  present  case,  or  is  it  merely  a  coincidence  ? 

ILLUSTRATIONS. —  I.  Many  popular  superstitions  are  merely  circumstances 
too  vague  and  inconclusive  to  form  a  real  induction,  yet  they  are  so  used.  For 
instance,  seeing  the  new  moon  over  the  left  shoulder  was  doubtless  first  noticed 
in  connection  with  ill  luck ;  then  several  coincident  occurrences  of  this  kind 
gave  rise  to  a  general  belief  that  ill  luck  was  necessarily  portended. 

2.  Macaulay  thus  demolishes  an  argument  from  example :  "  What  facts  does 
my  honorable  friend  produce  in  support  of  his  opinion  ?  One  fact  only ;  and 
that  a  fact  which  has  absolutely  nothing  to  do  with  the  question.  The  effect 
of  this  Reform,  he  tells  us,  would  be  to  make  the  House  of  Commons  all- 
powerful.  It  was  all-powerful  once  before,  in  the  beginning  of  1649.  Then 
it  cut  off  the  head  of  the  King,  and  abolished  the  House  of  Peers.  There- 
fore, if  it  again  has  the  supreme  power,  it  will  act  in  the  same  manner.  Now, 
Sir,  it  was  not  the  House  of  Commons  that  cut  off  the  head  of  Charles  the 
First;  nor  was  the  House  of  Commons  then  all-powerful.  It  had  been  greatly 
reduced  in  numbers  by  successive  expulsions.  It  was  under  the  absolute 
dominion  of  the  army.  A  majority  of  the  House  was  willing  to  take  the 
terms  offered  by  the  King.  The  soldiers  turned  out  the  majority;  and  the 
minority,  not  a  sixth  part  of  the  whole  House,  passed  those  votes  of  which  my 
honorable  friend  speaks,  votes  of  which  the  middle  classes  disapproved  then, 
and  of  which  they  disapprove  still." 

3.  George  Henry  Lewes  thus  refutes  an  analogical  argument  of  Dr.  John- 
son :  "  Dr.  Johnson  was  guilty  of  a  surprising  fallacy  in  saying  that  a  great 
mathematician  might  also  be  a  great  poet :  '  Sir,  a  man  can  walk  east  as  far 
as  he  can  walk  west.'  True,  but  mathematics  and  poetry  do  not  differ  as  east 
and  west;  and  he  would  hardly  assert  that  a  man  who  could  walk  twenty 
miles  could  therefore  swim  that  distance." 

Arguments  from  testimony  and  authority  are  refuted  either  by 
adducing  counter  evidence,  or  by  showing  the  dishonesty  or  incon- 
sistency of  the  evidence  given.  Cross-examination  in  courts  of 
justice  is  essentially  an  instrument  of  refutation. 

Refutation  as  adapted  to  Popular  Apprehension.  —  It  is  an 
unspoken  axiom  of  popular  discourse  that  the  speaker,  as  De 


438  ARGUMENT  A  TION. 

Quincey  expresses  it,  "  cannot  rely  on  any  sort  of  attention  that 
would  cost  an  effort."  This  is  especially  to  be  remembered  in 
refutation,  on  the  effectiveness  of  which  very  important  issues  often 
depend.  Hence  any  kind  of  refutation  that  compels  the  hearer  to 
follow  fine  and  subtle  distinctions  of  thought  is  precarious ;  it  may 
strike  special  thinkers,  but  it  cannot  be  relied  on  for  average  peo- 
ple. It  must  be  so  pointed  as  to  show  its  drift  at  once  ;  its  dis- 
tinctions must  be  so  broad  that  no  one  can  fail  to  see  them ;  and 
technicalities  should  if  possible  be  avoided. 

1.  Hence,  in  cases  involving  the  intricate  relations  of  premises 
and  conclusions,  the  clearest  refutation  will  be  made  by  means  of 
parallel  arguments,  that  is,  arguments  involving  the  same  principles 
of  reasoning,  but  applied  to  more  familiar  subjects  and  leading  to 
manifestly  untenable  conclusions.     This  form  of  refutation  was  a 
special  favorite  with  Macaulay. 

2.  Forms  of  argument  especially  adapted  to  popular  refutation 
are  reductio  ad  absurdum  and  dilemma.     It  is  to  be  remarked  also 
that  the  argument  from  analogy  is  a  more  effective  instrument  for 
reply  than  for  an  original  argument.    While  it  may  be  of  precarious 
value  taken  as  a  proof,  it  may  be  decisive  as  related  to  some  falla- 
cious argument  that  it  is  designed  to  overthrow. 

Need  of  Wisdom  in  Refutation.  —  Refutation,  being  the  attack 
of  an  opponent's  position,  must  recognize  the  opponent  as  already 
in  possession  of  the  field ;  and  indeed  the  reasoner's  handling  of 
his  opponent  betrays  his  own  estimate  of  the  latter's  strength.  It 
is  of  much  importance,  therefore,  that  he  be  wise  in  so  adapting 
himself  to  the  opponent's  position  as  accurately  to  accomplish  his 
purpose,  both  in  his  statements  and  in  his  implications. 

On  this  point  a  few  suggestions  may  be  made. 

i.  The  refutation  should,  as  to  its  strength,  be  wisely  adapted 
to  the  exact  force  of  the  opposed  argument,  neither  belittling  nor 
exaggerating  it.  It  is  manifestly  unwise  to  underrate  the  oppo- 
nent's position ;  the  refutation  must  be  stronger  if  it  is  to  act  as  a 
real  refutation.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  equally  unwise  to  spend 
superfluous  energy  in  refuting  a  weak  position ;  the  very  exertion 


AR  G  UMENTA  TION,  439 

put  forth  advertises  the  opposed  position  as  strong.  In  this 
respect,  then,  nice  calculation  is  needed  to  estimate  the  exact 
power  requisite  to  dispossess  the  hearer  of  an  erroneous  argu- 
ment. 

2.  The  reasoner  needs  also  to  be  alert  against  allowing  his  energy 
to  be  drawn  off  to  secondary  issues.     If  he  spends  his  time  on 
them,  the  citadel  of  the  opponent's  position  is  still  intact ;  while 
if  he  strikes  directly  for  the  central  error  and  refutes  that,  second- 
ary points  will  fall  of  themselves. 

3.  The  limits  of  refutation  are  to  be  kept  in  mind.     It  is  often 
effective  merely  as  invalidating  the  opponent's  course  of  reasoning, 
while  his  conclusion  may  nevertheless  be  true  and  establishable  by 
other  arguments.     The  refuter  needs  therefore  to  recognize  just 
how  much  or  how  little  he  has  done.    And  the  only  safe  place  in 
which  to  leave  a  refutation  is  in  a  new  argument.     Let  the  true 
reasoning  for  which  the  refutation  has  cleared  the  way  not  fail  to 
be  brought  forward  ;  otherwise  the  effect  of  what  is  after  all  a  mere 
negative  process  will  soon  vanish. 

III.    THE  BODY  OF  ARGUMENTS. 

The  unity  which,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  is  a  requisite  of 
every  work  of  literature,  is  an  especially  imperative  quality  of  an 
argumentative  work :  its  parts,  if  detached  and  digressive,  are  not 
merely  inoperative  ;  they  are  a  distracting  and  damaging  element. 
Not  only  must  the  various  arguments  be  a  chain,  with  every  link 
in  place,  but  whatever  is  introductory  or  transitional  must  contrib- 
ute its  influence  toward  absolute  oneness  of  effect.  Some  consid- 
erations, therefore,  regarding  the  body  of  arguments  belong  to  an 
adequate  discussion  of  our  subject. 

I. 

What  Argumentation  owes  to  Exposition.  —  Inseparably  con- 
nected both  with  the  structure  of  individual  arguments  and  with 
the  articulation  of  the  whole  course  of  reasoning  are  the  various 


440  ARGUMENTATION. 

processes  of  exposition.     They  often  work,  when  rightly  employed, 
to  make  extended  reasoning  superfluous. 

The  following  are  the  principal  uses  of  exposition  in  the  body 
of  arguments  that  make  up  a  discussion. 

1.  By  exposition  the  question  at  issue  is  stated  and  explained. 
This  is  a  most  indispensable  part  of  the  work.     Whatever  in  the 
question  is  obscure  is  to  be  put  into  accurate  and  lucid  language ; 
whatever  is  hard  is  to  be  defined ;  whatever  is  of  secondary  im- 
portance is  to  be  distinguished  from  the  main  issue ;  and,  in  a 
word,  the  clearest  and  exactest  statement  possible  is  to  be  sought 
as  the  basis  of  discussion. 

NOTE.  —  The  value  of  a  good  statement  of  the  question  at  issue  is  illus- 
trated in  the  following,  descriptive  of  Abraham  Lincoln's  methods  as  a  lawyer, 
from  Nicolay  and  Hay's  "  Life  of  Lincoln  " :  — 

"  His  more  usual  and  more  successful  manner  was  to  rely  upon  a  clear, 
strong,  lucid  statement,  keeping  details  in  proper  subordination  and  bringing 
forward,  in  a  way  which  fastened  the  attention  of  court  and  jury  alike,  the 
essential  point  on  which  he  claimed  a  decision.  '  Indeed,'  says  one  of  his  col- 
leagues, '  his  statement  often  rendered  argument  unnecessary,  and  often  the 
court  would  stop  him  and  say,  "  if  that  is  the  case,  we  will  hear  the  other 
side." ' " 

2.  By  exposition  the  nature  and  extent  of  the  question  are  de- 
termined.   Whether  the  issue  is  one  of  fact  or  of  principle  ;  whether 
of  right  or  of  expediency ;  whether  admitting  of  certain  decision 
or  only  probable  ;  whether  of  universal  or  of  limited  application  ; 
such  questions  as  these  must  be  at  the  outset  decided,  and  if  nec- 
essary expressed,  by  a  careful  exposition. 

ILLUSTRATION. — The  following,  from  Macaulay's  Speech  on  Copyright, 
will  exemplify  this  office  of  exposition :  — 

"  The  first  thing  to  be  done,  Sir,  is  to  settle  on  what  principles  the  question 
is  to  be  argued.  Are  we  free  to  legislate  for  the  public  good,  or  are  we  not  ? 
Is  this  a  question  of  expediency,  or  is  it  a  question  of  right  ?  Many  of  those 
who  have  written  and  petitioned  against  the  existing  state  of  things  treat  the 
question  as  one  of  right.  The  law  of  nature,  according  to  them,  gives  to  every 
man  a  sacred  and  indefeasible  property  in  his  own  ideas,  in  the  fruits  of  his 
own  reason  and  imagination.  The  legislature  has  indeed  the  power  to  take 


ARGUMENTATION.  441 

away  this  property,  just  as  it  has  the  power  to  pass  tin  act  of  attainder  for  cut- 
ting off  an  innocent  man's  head  without  a  trial.  But,  as  such  an  act  of  at- 
tainder would  be  legal  murder,  so  would  an  act  invading  the  right  of  an  author 
to  his  copy  be,  according  to  these  gentlemen,  legal  robbery. 

"  Now,  Sir,  if  this  be  so,  let  justice  be  done,  cost  what  it  may.  I  am  not 
prepared,  like  my  honorable  and  learned  friend,  to  agree  to  a  compromise 
between  right  and  expediency,  and  to  commit  an  injustice  for  the  public  con- 
venience. But  I  must  say,  that  his  theory  soars  far  beyond  the  reach  of  my 
faculties.  It  is  not  necessary  to  go,  on  the  present  occasion,  into  a  meta- 
physical inquiry  about  the  origin  of  the  right  of  property;  and  certainly  noth- 
ing but  the  strongest  necessity  would  lead  me  to  discuss  a  subject  so  likely  to 
be  distasteful  to  the  House."  Etc. 

By  a  paragraph  of  such  exposition  he  fixes  the  exact  issue,  and  then  says, 
"  We  may  now,  therefore,  I  think,  descend  from  these  high  regions,  where  we 
are  in  danger  of  being  lost  in  the  clouds,  to  firm  ground  and  clear  light.  Let 
us  look  at  this  question  like  legislators." 

3.  Exposition  plays  a  large  part,  often  as  large  as  argumentation 
itself,  in  the  course  of  reasoning.  A  premise  may  depend  for  its 
clearness  on  the  definition  of  a  term,  and  the  limits  and  relations 
of  principles  may  need  merely  to  be  set  forth  accurately,  for  the 
question  to  argue  itself. 

NOTE.  —  In  a  series  of  articles,  by  Cardinal  Newman,  entitled  "  Who's  to 
Blame?"  the  argument  is  carried  on  almost  entirely  by  exposition.  The  fun- 
damental proposition,  "  That  the  British  Constitution  is  made  for  a  state  of 
peace,  and  not  for  a  state  of  war,"  is  first  expanded  ;  then  the  terms  '  govern- 
ment '  and  '  constitution '  are  defined  and  illustrated ;  then  the  distinctions 
obtained  out  of  that  definition  are  applied  to  the  British  nation  ;  so  that  when 
we  thus  see  just  where  the  constitution  belongs,  what  is  the  weakness  and 
what  the  strength  of  its  fundamental  character,  we  are  ready  to  admit  the 
proposition. 

II. 

Suggestions  on  Order  of  Arguments.  —  There  is  no  other  form 
of  invention  in  which  an  effective  order  is  of  so  fundamental  im- 
portance as  in  argumentation.  This  because  argumentation  is 
more  closely  and  pointedly  an  organism  planned  for  immediate 
effect  on  men.  It  aims  not  merely  to  entertain  and  inform,  but  to 
change  opinion  and  overcome  error.  It  must  address  the  man 


442  ARC  UMENTA  TION. 

more  deeply  and  centrally ;  and  hence  its  rhetorical  requisite  of 
adaptation  is  more  stern,  less  tolerant  of  distraction  of  effect.  All 
must  count  toward  an  absolute  unity  of  result ;  and  all  must  be 
finely  calculated  to  meet  and  move  the  convictions  of  men. 

On  the  subject  of  order,  however,  important  as  it  is,  only  general 
suggestions  can  be  ventured.  It  must  be  left  for  the  most  part  to 
the  tact  of  the  reasoner,  to  the  character  of  the  audience,  to  the 
state  of  feeling  and  knowledge  regarding  the  question,  and  many 
other  considerations  that  can  be  determined  only  in  the  individual 
case. 

As  regards  Kind  of  Argument.  — In  general  it  may  be  remarked 
that  arguments  that  have  an  explanatory  character,  or  that  estab- 
lish a  fundamental  principle  on  which  much  depends,  naturally 
occupy  the  leading  place ;  being  somewhat  of  expository  nature, 
and  therefore  making  further  steps  more  clear  and  cogent. 

This  would  dictate  that,  in  determining  questions  of  fact,  the 
leading  place  should  be  given  to  the  a  priori  argument  and  in  gen- 
eral to  whatever  tends  to  establish  an  antecedent  probability  of 
the  case.  This  becomes  the  basis  of  procedure,  the  hypothesis ; 
and  whatever  is  added  by  testimony  comes  in  then  either  to 
strengthen  the  probability  or  to  compel  modification.  Thus  the 
order  is  from  the  more  general  to  the  more  particular.  If  the 
opposite  order  were  observed,  the  argument  from  probability 
would  seem  to  betray  the  reasoner's  sense  that  positive  testi- 
mony is  inadequate  and  must  be  buttressed  up  by  something 
else. 

As  regards  Relative  Strength  of  Arguments. — Several  con- 
siderations contribute  to  make  the  order  of  a  series  of  arguments 
something  of  a  problem.  An  argumentative  work,  like  all  works 
of  literature,  should  have  the  effect  of  climax,  the  power  and 
cogency  of  the  parts  increasing  steadily  to  a  culmination.  This 
would  seem  to  favor  beginning  with  the  weakest  argument ;  and 
yet  certainly  that  would  be  precarious,  for  much  depends,  in  a  work 
intended  to  produce  or  to  modify  conviction,  on  the  first  impres- 
sion. The  first  argument  should,  on  this  latter  consideration,  be 


ARC  UMENTA  TION.  443 

one  that  will  have  influence  to  induce  a  favorable  hearing  for  the 
succeeding.  It  should  be  strong,  and  also  obvious.  The  last  ar- 
gument should  be  strong,  and  also  comprehensive,  gathering  into 
a  final  plea  the  strength  of  what  has  preceded. 

Such,  then,  would  seem  to  be  the  most  philosophical  arrange- 
ment of  a  body  of  arguments  :  begin  with  the  consideration  that 
is  most  near  and  natural,  that  derives  its  strength  from  its  self- 
evident  character;  then  make  the  climax  in  the  direction  of 
breadth  and  comprehensiveness,  until  the  last  argument  stands 
as  a  rounder-off  and  finisher  of  the  whole  structure. 

Arguments  relatively  weak  are  thus  to  occupy  the  intermediate 
place,  with  bulk  and  prominence  graduated  to  their  intrinsic  value. 
Another  fact  may  here  aid  the  reasoner.  An  argument  weak  in 
itself  may  so  act  with  other  arguments  as  both  to  give  and  to 
receive  more,  perhaps,  than  its  intrinsic  strength.  Isolated,  it  may 
be  insignificant ;  supplementing  or  preparing  the  way  for  another, 
it  may  have  decisive  importance.  This  rule,  then,  may  be  applied 
to  the  minor  considerations :  when  an  argument  has  less  relative 
value  in  itself,  seek  what  can  be  done  for  it  by  skillful  arrangement. 

Order  of  Refutation.  —  The  order  that  refutation  should  occupy 
in  the  course  of  reasoning  depends  on  the  strength  of  the  position 
refuted,  and  on  the  prominence  it  already  has  in  the  mind  of  the 
public  addressed.  When  the  opposed  idea  holds  full  possession  of 
the  field,  the  first  business  must  be  to  dislodge  it ;  there  is  no  room 
for  a  new  argument  until  the  old  is  cleared  away.  In  such  case, 
then,  refutation  belongs  first;  and  the  procedure  "may  be  exempli- 
fied by  Webster's  speech  on  "  The  Constitution  not  a  Compact 
between  Sovereign  States,"  the  first  half  of  which  is  an  elaborate 
refutation  of  the  widely  received  Nullification  doctrine.  On  the 
other  hand,  when  the  refuted  position  is  insignificant,  the  order  of 
refutation  should  recognize  its  insignificance ;  the  refutation  may 
come  in  incidentally,  as  a  corollary  of  the  argument  most  potent 
to  overthrow  the  error.  In  Burke's  Bristol  Speech,  where  the 
refutation  is  merely  an  answer  to  objections,  it  comes  in  as  a  sup- 
plementary part  added  in  the  interests  of  completeness. 


444  AR  G  UMENTA  TION. 


IV.  DEBATE. 

This  form  of  discourse,  which  is  a  personal  contest  between 
combatants,  wherein  the  larger  aim  is  truth  and  the  immediate 
end  victory,  has  its  system  of  procedure  and  tactics,  too  intricate 
to  be  detailed  to  any  great  extent  here.  It  may  be  of  service, 
however,  to  give  some  "of  the  more  important  features  of  debate 
in  the  form  of  practical  rules,  with  brief  comments  thereon. 

i.  Make  sure  of  your  question  —  its  interpretation,  its  limits  and 
extent,  its  exact  point  at  issue. 

The  ideal,  in  the  preparation  of  the  question,  is  to  find  the 
point  where  the  contestants  are  at  one,  so  that  all  may  have  a 
common  basis  of  reference  clearly  determined  by  definition  and 
enunciation.  Of  course  this  is  not  always  equally  possible,  and 
sometimes  it  is  not  possible  at  all ;  but  even  thus,  the  fact  that  the 
issue  lies  in  great  part  in  the  definition  of  terms  or  the  determina- 
tion of  the  question  is  of  the  utmost  importance  to  discover.  It 
is  each  debater's  business  at  the  outset,  therefore,  to  fix  his  own 
position  firmly ;  and  thereafter  he  should  hold  to  it  consistently. 

a.  Regulate  your  work  by  locating  justly  the  burden  of  proof. 

Whoever  proposes  an  innovation,  or  asserts  some  fact  or  prin- 
ciple not  generally  held,  must  take  upon  himself  the  labor,  or 
burden,  of  proving  it ;  he  must  make  the  attack.  The  other  side, 
the  side  of  the  established  order  of  things,  or  of  reigning  public 
opinion,  has  the  advantage  of  the  defensive,  or  as  we  say,  has  the 
presumption  in  its  favor.  A  man  is  presumed  innocent  until  he 
is  proved  guilty.  A  custom  is  presumed  good  until  it  is  demon- 
strated to  be  bad.  This  makes  it  an  important  matter,  deter- 
mining as  it  does  the  method  of  procedure,  to  locate  rightly  the 
burden  of  proof.  In  some  questions,  questions  of  speculative 
truth  or  of  expediency,  there  is  practically  no  burden  of  proof; 
while  in  others  it  has  a  cardinal  significance. 


ARGUMENT  A  TION.  445 

3.  Concede  where  you  safely  can,  and  not  grudgingly  but  gener- 
ously. 

A  wise  concession  not  only  makes  the  appearance  of  fairness 
greater,  but  fixes  more  definitely  and  pointedly  the  issue.  On 
conceded  points  there  is  no  contest ;  if  then  they  are  dismissed, 
the  scene  of  the  contest  is  better  bounded.  It  is  not  infrequently 
wise  to  yield  to  your  opponent  in  every  point  except  the  one 
wherein  you  would  make  him  yield  to  you. 

4.  Waive  whatever  is  irrelevant,  that  the  argument  may  be  confined 
to  one  simple  and  clear  course. 

To  waive  is  not  the  same  as  to  concede.  It  is  simply  postpon- 
ing some  consideration  which,  though  not  yielded,  is  not  in  place 
here.  This  is  often  an  important  matter.  An  unscrupulous  oppo- 
nent may  seek  no  better  fortune  than  to  involve  the  debater  in 
some  irrelevant  discussion ;  it  may  often  serve  him  the  good  pur- 
pose of  preserving  a  lame  cause  from  attack. 

5.  Be  fair  and  honest  toward  the  position  and  arguments  of  your 
opponent. 

This  applies  both  to  the  statement  of  an  opponent's  views  and 
to  the  estimate  of  an  opponent's  argument. 

Scrupulous  fairness  in  statement,  without  attempt  to  modify  the 
opponent's  words  in  order  to  favor  one's  own  side,  is  the  only  pro- 
cedure that  pays  in  the  long  run.  It  pays  for  your  own  argument ; 
for  if  the  opponent's  position  is  strong,  to  whittle  at  it  is  only  to 
attempt  evasion  and  thus  indirectly  to  confess  that  you  are  baffled  ; 
whereas  it  demands  a  fair  encounter.  It  pays  also  in  fortifying 
your  position ;  for  if  in  representing  your  antagonist  you  leave 
some  unrecognized  point,  some  underrated  principle,  it  will  work 
to  your  discomfiture. 

So  also,  when  an  opponent's  argument  is  found  impregnable, 
honesty  requires  that  the  fact  be  fairly  acknowledged.  Subterfuge 
and  evasion  in  the  face  of  an  evident  truth  may  be  the  natural 


446  ARC  UMENTA  TION. 

impulse  of  a  wounded  pride,  but  they  are  ruinous  tactics  for  a 
broad  and  noble  cause. 

6.  Finally,  bear  in  mind  the  sound  principle  of  literary  ethics,  that 
truth  is  worth  more  than  victory. 

A  victory  in  defiance  of  truth  and  conviction  is  sure  to  be 
transitory ;  the  logic  of  events  will  sweep  away  its  fruits  and 
the  reasoner  with  them.  In  literature,  as  in  life,  the  only  safe 
resource  is  a  stern  alliance  with  the  results  of  the  deepest  convic- 
tions of  truth ;  mistaken  such  convictions  may  indeed  be,  but 
they  should  be  honestly  held,  not  repressed. 

This  naturally  suggests  a  very  important  question.  Ought  then 
a  lawyer  to  argue  a  side  that  he  knows  to  be  unjust?  Is  it  not 
rather  his  business  to  defend  whoever  will  employ  him,  whether  in 
a  good  or  in  a  bad  cause  ?  Concerning  this  question  one  impor- 
tant concession  is  to  be  made.  Every  cause  has  certainly  the  right 
to  be  represented  so  far  as  it  is  just ;  every  accused  person  is 
entitled  to  as  much  defence  as  lies  really  in  his  case.  The  truth 
is  seldom  found  wholly  on  either  side  ;  and  even  after  the  fact  of 
guilt  is  established,  there  still  remains  the  question  of  its  degree. 
So  far  as  he  sees  truth  and  valid  defence  every  one  may  certainly 
go ;  if  he  goes  deliberately  further  he  has  merely  the  right  that 
any  man  has  to  belie  his  convictions  and  do  the  truth  a  wrong,  — 
no  more  and  no  less. 


PERSUASION.  447 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

INVENTION    DEALING    WITH    PRACTICAL    ISSUES: 
PERSUASION. 

"  IF  to  do  were  as  easy  as  to  know  what  were  good  to  do, 
chapels  had  been  churches,  and  poor  men's  cottages  princes' 
palaces."  Argument  can  demonstrate  with  all  clearness  what 
were  good  to  do ;  it  can  convince  the  intellect  that  the  truth  of  a 
question  is  here  or  there ;  but  when  it  comes  to  the  actual  doing, 
argument  alone  supplies  no  impulse.  To  the  satisfaction  of  the 
intellect  something  must  be  added  that  shall  awaken  feeling  and 
interest,  and  so  inspire  the  will  to  embody  the  truth  in  action. 
To  impart  this  impulse  is  the  business  of  persuasipn. 

Persuasion,  like  argumentation,  deals  with  truths ;  but  with 
truths  of  a  particular  kind.  Practical  truths,  such  as  have  a  defi- 
nite issue  in  character  and  action,  personal  truths,  that  come  home 
to  men's  business  and  bosoms,  —  such  are  the  material  with  which 
persuasion  works ;  nor  can  it  be  truly  potent  except  as  it  can 
fasten  on  a  practical  point,  and  make  the  whole  thought  concen- 
trate itself  on  that.  In  a  word,  the  whole  sphere  of  duty,  interest, 
privilege,  happiness,  conduct,  is  open  to  the  work  of  persuasion ; 
no  small  sphere  indeed,  for  conduct,  as  Matthew  Arnold  is  fond 
of  saying,  is  three-fourths  of  life. 

NOTE.  —  A  reasoner  who  is  endeavoring  to  demonstrate  that  the  planet 
Mars  is  inhabited  is  indeed  handling  an  intricate  argumentative  problem  ;  he 
is  seeking  to  find  a  truth,  or  at  least  a  balance  of  probability  ;  but  if  he  solves 
the  problem  ever  so  clearly  the  answer  cannot  in  the  smallest  degree  appeal 
to  the  hearer's  will.  An  interesting  thing  it  is  to  know,  but  there  is  no  point 
that  can  be  a  claim  on  him  to  do.  On  the  other  hand,  when  Demosthenes 
ceases  presenting  to  his  audience  a  truth  which  is  also  an  appeal,  and  has 
given  it  the  requisite  power  of  diction  and  delivery,  his  hearers  cry,  "Up!  let 


448  PERSUASION. 

us  march  against  Philip !  "    The  truth  has  taken  possession  of  their  will,  and 
wrought  its  purpose  in  an  impulse  to  action. 

Such  material,  with  such  an  object,  enters  like  a  rightful  sover- 
eign every  domain  of  literary  presentation.  The  splendors  of 
description,  the  grace  of  narrative,  the  accuracy  of  exposition,  the 
sternness  of  argument ;  employing  the  highest  resources  of  diction, 
whether  plain,  impassioned,  or  imaginative ;  all  that  will  arouse 
interest  and  concentrate  attention,  is  according  to  occasion  the 
proper  handmaid  of  persuasion.  For  in  persuasion  thought  is 
brought  up  to  a  determinate  issue  between  man  and  man.  So 
here  we  reach  the  very  centre  and  sum  of  the  art  of  rhetoric. 
If  in  general  rhetoric  means  adaptation  to  the  requirements  of  a 
reader  or  hearer,  here  it  means  such  adaptation  in  its  highest  and 
most  intimate  sense.  For  it  must  be  adaptation  to  the  whole 
man,  —  not  to  his  mind  alone,  but  to  mind  and  heart  and  will. 
The  work  is  great ;  great  also  must  be  the  resource.  Whatever 
is  necessary  to  rouse  men  from  indifference,  turn  them  from 
prejudice  or  opposition,  sober  them  from  unhealthy  excitement  to 
wise  and  thoughtful  action,  belongs  to  the  comprehensive  sphere 
of  persuasion. 

As  in  previous  chapters,  we  will  discuss  this  subject  of  persua- 
sion first  in  its  principles,  and  then  as  it  is  employed  in  works  of 
literature. 

I.    THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  PERSUASION. 

"  To  be  a  persuasive  speaker,"  says  Professor  Bain,1  "it  is  neces- 
sary to  have  vividly  present  to  the  view  all  the  leading  impulses 
and  convictions  of  the  persons  addressed,  and  to  be  ready  to  catch 
at  every  point  of  identity  between  these  and  the  propositions  or 
projects  presented  for  their  adoption.  The  first-named  qualifica- 
tion grows  out  of  the  experience  and  study  of  character ;  the  other 
is  the  natural  force  of  similarity,  which  has  often  been  exemplified 
in  its  highest  range  in  oratorical  minds." 

1  Bain,  "  The  Senses  and  the  Intellect,"  p.  543. 


PERSUASION.  449 

These  two  requisites  of  persuasive  speaking  will  furnish  perhaps 
the  most  convenient  basis  on  which  to  discuss  the  principles  of 
persuasion. 

i. 

The  Speaker's  Alliance  with  his  Audience.  —  It  will  be  ob- 
served that  we  here  employ  a  single  pair  of  terms,  —  speaker  and 
audience,  —  instead  of  giving,  as  heretofore,  the  alternative  to 
speaker  or  writer,  audience  or  public.  This  is  done  of  intent. 
Persuasion  is  so  predominantly  the  work  of  oral  communication,  it 
so  almost  necessarily  requires  the  close  contact  of  personal  pres- 
ence, that  the  alternative  hardly  comes  into  the  account.  Persua- 
sion presupposes  a  speaker  at  close  quarters  with  his  audience. 

And  first  of  all,  as  it  is  here  expressed,  he  is  to  make  an  alliance 
with  his  hearers.  In  some  respects  we  may  regard  his  task  as 
siege  and  victory,  for  he  is  indeed  to  overcome  their  opposition  or 
indifference ;  but  in  a  truer  sense  he  is  to  enlist  their  sympathies 
and  energies  in  a  common  cause  with  him,  is  to  make  them  will- 
ingly adopt  his  views  and  identify  with  them  their  own  interests. 
Hence  the  attitude  that  he  assumes  and  endeavors  fully  to  realize 
is  that  of  a  friend.  It  is  a  veritable  alliance. 

In  Personal  Character.  —  Such  alliance  goes  more  deeply  than 
mere  intellectual  agreement.  In  order  to  persuade  men,  the 
speaker  must  make  them  tacitly  recognize  him  as  one  to  be 
trusted,  so  far  as  the  issue  before  them  requires  trust ;  as  one  who 
has  earnestly  at  heart  their  interests  as  well  as  his  own  cause. 
The  first  relation  to  be  established  between  speaker  and  hearer,  a 
relation  without  which  no  real  progress  can  be  made  in  persuasion, 
is  the  relation  of  mutual  trust  and  respect. 

i.  Of  such  trust  and  respect  the  initiative  must  be  taken  by  the 
speaker.  Not  with  cringing  or  flattery,  not  with  any  brow-beating 
air  of  superiority,  but  with  a  manly,  self-respecting  frankness,  he  is 
to  approach  his  audience  as  men  occupying  a  common  ground 
with  himself,  as  having  rights,  abilities,  opinions,  that  are  to  be 
respected  and  conciliated.  Let  them  once  recognize  this  as  his 


450  PERSUASION. 

genuine  attitude  toward  them,  and  he  has  their  ear  not  only  for 
things  agreeable,  but  for  sharp  and  searching,  even  reproving 
truths ;  he  can  declare  to  them  his  whole  counsel  and  count  on 
its  being  at  least  fairly  weighed,  which  is  surely  the  first  requisite 
to  its  being  followed. 

NOTE. — This  friendly  relation  with  the  audience  may  be  strikingly  illus- 
trated from  the  career  of  Abraham  Lincoln  as  a  public  speaker.  Of  his 
method  he  himself  once  said,  "  I  always  assume  that  my  audience  are  in  many 
things  wiser  than  I  am,  and  I  say  the  most  sensible  thing  I  can  to  them.  I 
never  found  that  they  did  not  understand  me."  His  biographers,  Xicolay  and 
Hay,  say  of  him :  "  He  assumed  at  the  start  a  frank  and  friendly  relation  with 
the  jury  which  was  extremely  effective.  He  usually  began,  as  the  phrase  ran, 
by  '  giving  away  his  case ' ;  by  allowing  to  the  opposite  side  every  possible 
advantage  that  they  could  honestly  and  justly  claim.  Then  he  would  present 
his  own  side  of  the  case,  with  a  clearness,  a  candor,  an  adroitness  of  statement 
which  at  once  flattered  and  convinced  the  jury,  and  made  even  the  bystanders 
his  partisans." 

2.  To  the  establishment  of  such  friendly  relation  the  most  effec- 
tual bar,  perhaps,  is  the  appearance  of  any  kind  of  artifice.  If 
such  is  detected  by  the  audience,  the  speaker's  efforts  are  as  good 
as  futile ;  it  is  such  artifice,  such  tricks  of  flattery  and  argument, 
that  have  given  an  unjust  reproach  to  the  rhetorical  art  in  general. 
The  hearers  are  looking  for  a  man ;  if  they  find  but  a  persuading 
machine,  laying  arts  to  entrap  their  sympathies  and  wills,  they 
are  embittered  against  not  only  his  cause  but  his  whole  profession. 
After  all,  it  is  only  genuine  character  and  sincere  conviction  that 
can  be  safely  relied  on  before  an  audience. 

NOTE.  —  The  following  anecdote,  related  by  Professor  Phelps,  will  illustrate 
the  futility  of  an  evident  artifice :  — 

"  Patrick  Henry  thought  to  win  the  favor  of  the  backwoodsmen  of  Virginia 
by  imitating  their  colloquial  dialect,  of  which  his  biographer  gives  the  follow- 
ing specimen  from  one  of  his  speeches :  '  All  the  larnin  upon  the  yairth  are 
not  to  be  compared  with  naiteral  pairts.'  But  his  hearers,  backwoodsmen 
though  they  were,  knew  better  than  that;  and  they  knew  that  a  statesman  of 
the  Old  Dominion  ought  to  speak  good  English.  They  were  his  severest 
critics." 

"  If,"  says  Professor  Mathews,  "  the  orator  can  make  his  hearers  believe 


PERSUASION.  451 

that  he  is  not  only  a  stranger  to  all  unfair  artifice,  but  even  destitute  of  all 
persuasive  skill  whatever,  he  will  persuade  them  the  more  effectually;  and  if 
there  ever  could  be  an  absolutely  perfect  orator,  no  one  would  (at  the  time,  ,it 

least)  discover  thai  he  was  so." 

3.  The  fact  must  also  be  acknowledged  that  true  persuasion, 
that  is,  a  real  influence  on  men's  wills,  is  almost  inevitably  denied 
to  the  habitual  "  funny  man."  Men  will  consent  to  be  amused  by 
him ;  they  will  come  in  crowds  to  laugh  at  his  wit  and  drollery ; 
but  when  he  attempts  to  exhort  them  earnestly  they  cannot  easily 
realize  that  he  is  not  joking.  They  have  measured  his  character 
by  a  lightness  of  standard  that  he  cannot  easily  surmount.  This  is 
not  said  as  against  the  use  of  humor  in  public  address ;  it  merely 
refers  to  the  use  of  humor  as  the  staple  of  the  address.  It  should 
be  known  that  if  one  aspires  to  reputation  as  a  funny  man,  he  has 
to  pay  for  it  by  sacrificing  something  that  he  may  afterwards  wish 
he  had  cherished. 

NOTE. —  Of  literary  men  Sydney  Smith  may  be  mentioned  as  one  whose 
reputation  for  wit  has  greatly  obscured  a  real  depth  and  earnestness  of 
thought.  One  of  the  eminent  thinkers  of  the  age,  he  is  for  the  most  part 
remembered  merely  as  one  of  its  laugh-makers. 

Here  perhaps  a  word  should  be  said  to  students.  In  the  college  world,  too, 
men  inevitably  find  their  level.  I  have  seen  men  whose  rising  to  speak  on 
any  topic  before  their  classmates  only  produced  a  broad  grin,  the  broader  as 
the  speaker  attempted  to  be  more  earnest.  These  men  had  been  too  content 
to  be  class  buffoons  ;  and  when  they  assumed  the  solemn  role  their  classmates 
judged  that  their  specific  gravity  was  too  light  to  sustain  such  character,  and 
they  would  none  of  it.  Unjust  judgment,  perhaps,  but  it  was  natural  retribu- 
tion. Some  men's  only  refuge  is  a  funny  debate. 

In  Sagacity  and  Tact.  —  Besides  the  general  qualifications  of 
character,  which  are  to  be  cherished  and  evinced  independently 
of  the  immediate  occasion,  there  is  necessary  to  persuasion  also 
such  a  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  such  readiness  of  resource, 
as  shall  enable  the  speaker  infallibly  to  adapt  himself  and  his 
cause  to  an  audience.  This  is  a  power  which  in  its  higher 
exercise  amounts  to  the  loftiest  genius.  Emerson '  thus  describes 

1  Emerson,  Essay  on  "  Eloquence." 


452  PERSUASION. 

"  Him  we  call  an  artist,  who  shall  play  on  an  assembly  of  men 
as  a  master  on  the  keys  of  a  piano,  —  who,  seeing  the  people 
furious,  shall  soften  and  compose  them,  shall  draw  them,  when  he 
will,  to  laughter  and  to  tears.  Bring  him  to  his  audience,  and,  be 
they  who  they  may,  —  coarse  or  refined,  pleased  or  displeased, 
sulky  or  savage,  with  their  opinions  in  the  keeping  of  a  confessor, 
or  with  their  opinions  in  their  bank-safes,  —  he  will  have  them 
pleased  or  humored  as  he  chooses  ;  and  they  shall  carry  and  exe- 
cute that  which  he  bids  them.  .  .  .  This  is  a  power  of  many 
degrees,  and  requiring  in  the  orator  a  great  range  of  faculty  and 
experience,  requiring  a  large  composite  man,  such  as  Nature  rarely 
organizes." 

Let  us  analyze  this  power  over  men  a  little  more  in  detail. 

i.  This  power  requires  first  of  all  an  intuitive  knowledge  of 
men,  as  to  what  may  be  attempted  with  them.  The  skillful  orator 
notes,  in  the  physiognomy  and  general  appearance  of  his  audience, 
signs  that  indicate  how  he  may  best  approach  them ;  he  is  aware 
how  much  he  can  accomplish  or  how  little  ;  he  singles  out  in  mind 
whom  he  may  best  conciliate  as  leaders  of  influence.  In  one  rapid 
glance,  it  may  be,  he  reads  the  predominating  spirit  of  the  audi- 
ence before  him,  and  shapes  his  plan  of  procedure  accordingly. 

NOTE.  —  On  this  point  Henry  Ward  Beecher  makes  some  very  suggestive 
remarks,  in  his  "  Lectures  on  Preaching."  Speaking  of  the  study  of  men's 
appearance,  he  says :  — 

"  For  example,  you  assume  that  a  man's  brain  is  the  general  organ  of  the 
spiritual  and  intellectual  functions. 

"  I  see  a  man  with  a  small  brow  and  big  in  the  lower  part  of  his  head,  like 
a  bull,  and  I  know  that  man  is  not  likely  to  be  a  saint.  All  the  reasoning  in 
the  world  would  not  convince  me  of  the  contrary,  but  I  would  say  of  such  a 
man,  that  he  had  very  intense  ideas,  and  would  bellow  and  push  like  a  bull  of 
Bashan.  Now,  practically,  do  you  suppose  I  would  commence  to  treat  with 
such  a  man  by  flaunting  a  rag  in  his  face  ?  My  first  instinct  in  regard  to  him 
is  what  a  man  would  have  if  he  found  himself  in  a  field  with  a  wild  bull,  which 
would  be  to  put  himself  on  good  manners,  and  use  means  of  conciliation,  if 
possible. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  if  I  see  a  man  whose  forehead  is  very  high  and  large, 
but  who  is  thin  in  the  back  of  the  head,  and  with  a  small  neck  and  trunk,  I 


PERSUASION.  453 

say  to  myself,  That  is  a  man  probably,  whose  friends  are  always  talking  about 
how  much  there  is  in  him,  but  who  never  does  anything.  He  is  a  man  who 
has  great  organs,  but  nothing  to  drive  them  with.  He  is  like  a  splendid  loco- 
motive without  a  boiler. 

"Again,  you  will  see  a  man  with  a  little  bullet-head,  having  accomplished 
more  than  that  big-headed  man,  who  ought  to  have  been  a  strong  giant  and  a 
great  genius.  The  bullet-headed  man  has  outstripped  the  broad-browed  man 
in  everything  he  undertook ;  and  people  say, '  Where  is  your  phrenology  ? ' 
In  reply,  I  say,  '  Look  at  that  bullet-headed  man,  and  see  what  he  has  to  drive 
his  bullet-head  with  ! '  His  stomach  gives  evidence  that  he  has  natural  forces 
to  carry  forward  his  purposes.  Then  look  at  the  big-headed  man.  He  can't 
make  a  spoonful  of  blood  in  twenty-four  hours,  and  what  he  does  make  is 
poor  and  thin.  Phrenology  classifies  the  brain  regions  well  enough,  but  you 
must  understand  its  relations  to  physiology,  and  the  dependence  of  brain-work 
upon  the  quantity  and  quality  of  blood  that  the  man's  body  makes. 

"You  may  ask,  'What  is  the  use  of  knowing  these  things?'  All  the  use 
in  the  world.  If  a  person  comes  to  me,  with  dark,  coarse  hair,  I  know  he  is 
tough  and  enduring,  and  I  know  that,  if  it  is  necessary,  I  can  hit  him  a  rap  to 
arouse  him  ;  but  if  I  see  a  person  who  has  fine  silky  hair,  and  a  light  com- 
plexion, I  know  that  he  is  of  an  excitable  temperament,  and  must  be  dealt 
with  soothingly.  Again,  if  I  see  one  with  a  large  blue  watery  eye,  and  its 
accompanying  complexion,  I  say  to  myself  that  all  Mount  Sinai  could  not  wake 
that  man  up.  I  have  ^een  men  of  that  stamp,  whom  you  could  no  more  stim- 
ulate to  action,  than  you  could  a  lump  of  dough  by  blowing  a  resurrection 
trump  over  it." 

The  following,  from  Professor  Mathews,  is  related  of  Rufus  Choate :  — 

"  No  advocate  ever  scanned  more  watchfully  the  faces  of  his  hearers  while 
speaking.  By  long  practice  he  had  learned  to  read  their  sentiments  as  read- 
ily as  if  their  hearts  had  been  throbbing  in  glass  cases.  In  one  jury  address 
of  five  hours,  he  hurled  his  oratorical  artillery  for  three  of  them  at  the  hard- 
headed  foreman,  upon  whom  all  his  bolts  seemed  to  be  spent  in  vain.  At 
last,  the  iron  countenance  relaxed,  the  strong  eyes  moistened,  and  Choate  was 
once  more  master  of  the  situation." 

2.  A  second  requisite  of  such  power  is  sagacity  to  approach 
men  according  to  the  ideas  and  motives  most  operative  with  them. 
Professor  Bain l  thus  illustrates  this  :  — 

"  Persuasion  implies  that  some  course  of  conduct  shall  be  so 
described,  or  expressed,  as  to  coincide,  or  be  identified,  with  the 

1  Bain,  "The  Senses  and  the  Intellect,"  p.  542, 


454  PERSUASION. 

active  impulses  of  the  individuals  addressed,  and  thereby  com- 
mand their  adoption  of  it  by  the  force  of  their  own  natural  dispo- 
sitions. A  leader  of  banditti  has  to  deal  with  a  class  of  persons 
whose  ruling  impulse  is  plunder ;  and  it  becomes  his  business  to 
show  that  any  scheme  of  his  proposing  will  lead  to  this  end.  A 
people  with  an  intense,  overpowering  patriotism,  as  the  old  Ro- 
mans, can  be  acted  on  by  proving  that  the  interests  of  country  are 
at  stake.  The  fertile  oratorical  mind  is  one  that  can  identify  a 
case  in  hand  with  a  great  number  of  the  strongest  beliefs  of  an 
audience ;  and  more  especially  with  those  that  seem,  at  first  sight, 
to  have  no  connection  with  the  point  to  be  carried.  The  discov- 
ery of  identity  in  diversity  is  never  more  called  for,  than  in  the 
attempts  to  move  men  to  adopt  some  unwonted  course  of  pro- 
ceeding." 

NOTE.  —  The  value  of  this  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  of  the  con- 
siderations that  will  be  most  potent  with  the  hearers,  is  strikingly  illustrated 
in  the  speeches  of  Brutus  and  Antony,  in  Shakespeare's  "  Julius  Caesar." 

Brutus,  who  presents  to  the  mob  high  considerations  of  patriotism  and 
honor,  obtains  for  the  most  part  only  a  vague  admiration  for  his  person,  —  as 
is  indicated  in  their  answers :  — 

"  Citizens.    Live,  Brutus !  live,  live ! 

/  Cit.    Bring  him  with  triumph  home  unto  his  house. 

2  Cit.   Give  him  a  statue  with  his  ancestors. 

3  Cit.   Let  him  be  Caesar. 

4  Cit.  Caesar's  better  parts 
Shall  now  be  crown'd  in  Brutus. 

/  Cit.   We'll  bring  him  to  his  house  with  shouts  and  clamors." 

On  the  other  hand  Antony,  who  speaks  in  the  concrete,  who  dwells  on 
Gesar's  kindness  and  regard  for  them,  who  rouses  their  pity  for  his  wounds 
and  appeals  to  their  cupidity  by  mentioning  his  will,  in  which  he  has  remem- 
bered them,  raises  a  fury  that  only  desperate  deeds  can  quell :  — 

"  Citizens.  Revenge,  —  about,  —  seek,  —  burn,  —  fire,  —  kill,  —  slay,  —  let 
not  a  traitor  live !  .  .  . 

i  Cit.  Come,  away,  away ! 

We'll  burn  his  body  in  the  holy  place, 
And  with  the  brands  fire  the  traitors'  houses. 
Take  up  the  body. 


PERSUASION.  455 

2  Cit.   Go  fetch  fire. 

j  Cit.    Pluck  down  benches. 

4  Cit.    Pluck  down  forms,  windows,  anything. 

[Exeunt  Citizens  with  the  body. 

Ant.  Now  let  it  work.  —  Mischief,  thou  art  afoot, 

Take  thou  what  course  thou  wilt !  " 

% 

Antony  knows  what  chords  to  strike  in  a  mob;  Brutus  judges  all  men  by 
the  same  lofty  standards  that  are  potent  with  himself.  Of  course  a  man  with 
giant's  power  is  not  always  to  use  it  like  a  giant;  if  Antony  had  been  endowed 
with  Brutus's  uprightness,  how  his  knowledge  of  human  nature  could  have 
wrought  for  conciliation ! 

3.  A  third  requisite  of  such  power  is  tact  to  adapt  one's  self  to 
unforeseen  circumstances  and  make  them  bend  to  one's  purposes. 
This  of  course  is  merely  the  knowledge  of  human  nature  already 
mentioned,  combined  with  a  presence  of  mind  that  enables  the 
orator,  when  one  resource  fails,  to  try  another. 

NOTE.  —  An  interesting  illustration  of  such  tact  in  handling  a  turbulent 
multitude  is  seen  in  Henry  Ward  Beecher's  Address  at  Liverpool,  in  the  time 
of  our  Civil  War.  There  were  in  Liverpool  many  sympathizers  with  secession, 
and  these  made  such  an  uproar  that  he  could  hardly  proceed ;  but  seizing  his 
first  opportunity  to  make  a  plea  for  the  peculiarly  British  sentiment  of  fair 
play,  he  secured  the  ear  of  the  audience.  The  following  is  part  of  his  intro- 
duction :  — 

"  Now,  personally,  it  is  a  matter  of  very  little  consequence  to  me  whether 
I  speak  here  to-night  or  not.  [Laughter  and  cheers.]  But,  one  thing  is  very 
certain,  if  you  do  permit  me  to  speak  here  to-night  you  will  hear  very  plain 
talking.  [Applause  and  hisses.]  You  will  not  find  a  man  —  [interruption] 
—  you  will  not  find  me  a  man  that  dared  to  speak  about  Great  Britain  three 
thousand  miles  off,  and  then  is  afraid  to  speak  to  Great  Britain  when  he  stands 
on  her  shores.  [Immense  applause  and  hisses.]  And  if  I  do  not  mistake 
the  tone  and  temper  of  Englishmen,  they  had  rather  have  a  man  who 
opposes  them  in  a  manly  way  —  [applause  from  all  parts  of  the  hall]  — 
than  a  sneak  that  agrees  with  them  in  an  unmanly  way.  [Applause,  and 
"  Bravo  !  "]  Now,  if  I  can  carry  you  with  me  by  sound  convictions,  I  shall  be 
immensely  glad  —  [applause] ;  but  if  I  cannot  carry  you  with  me  by  facts 
and  sound  arguments,  I  do  not  wish  you  to  go  with  me  at  all;  and  all 
that  I  ask  is  simply  FAIR  PLAY.  [Applause,  and  a  voice :  "  You  shall  have 
it  too."]  " 


456  PERSUASION. 

II. 

The  Speaker's  Achievement  of  his  Object.  —  It  will  be  ob- 
served here  that  we  speak  of  the  achievement  of  an  object,  instead 
of,  as  heretofore,  the  treatment  of  a  subject  or  theme.  This  fact 
merits  attention.  The  man  who  would  persuade  chooses  an  object 
rather  than  a  subject.  That  is,  the  central  aim  and  idea  of  his 
discourse  takes  in  his  mind  the  form  of  something  to  be  put  into 
practical  action,  something  appealing  to  the  will.  The  outcome 
of  the  discourse,  so  far  as  it  is  a  work  of  persuasion,  may  be  ex- 
pressed in  a  single  imperative  proposition. 

What  the  object  of  persuasion  is,  in  general,  we  have  already 
seen :  to  make  the  hearer  see  and  feel  that  his  interest  and  duty 
lie  in  the  adoption  of  a  certain  prescribed  line  of  conduct  or  be- 
lief. Emerson 1  thus  summarizes  it :  "  The  Koran  says,  '  A  moun- 
tain may  change  its  place,  but  a  man  will  not  change  his  disposi- 
tion ' ;  yet  the  end  of  eloquence  is,  —  is  it  not  ?  —  to  alter  in  a 
pair  of  hours,  perhaps  in  a  half-hour's  discourse,  the  convictions 
and  habits  of  years." 

Now,  in  order  to  achieve  such  an  object,  the  speaker  must  en- 
list the  whole  man  on  his  side ;  must  make  him  at  once  see,  feel, 
and  will  the  truth.  In  discussing,  therefore,  the  procedures  neces- 
sary to  this  end,  we  must  take  up  each  side  of  the  human  nature 
in  turn,  and  consider  what  manner  of  address  is  most  naturally 
adapted  to  it. 

1 .  Address  to  the  Intellect.  —  By  this  is  meant  the  speaker's 
determinate  adaptation  of  his  thought  to  the  thinking  and  inter- 
preting powers  of  his  hearer.  This  of  course  is  the  staple  of  every 
form  of  literature ;  there  are,  however,  certain  special  aspects  of 
it  as  related  to  persuasion  that  need  to  be  considered. 

i.  And  first  it  is  important  to  observe,  that  no  persuasive  or 
hortatory  discourse  can  dispense  with  a  solid,  predominating  basis 
of  ordered  thought.  If  men  are  urged  to  act,  it  is  before  all 
things  essential  that  the  nature  and  mode  of  the  proposed  action, 

1  Emerson,  Essay  on  "  Eloquence." 


PERSUASION.  457 

its  grounds  and  consequences,  be  clearly  set  forth  and  explained 
to  their  minds.  To  be  sure,  so  far  as  it  is  merely  thought,  merely 
of  the  brain,  it  supplies  no  impulse ;  but,  being  the  basis,  it  be- 
comes the  controller  and  regulator  of  the  impulse  when  the  latter 
is  supplied.  And  when  exhortation  works  on  men  without  such 
regulative  of  solid  thought,  the  sequel  is  but  the  wild,  unguided 
frenzy  of  a  mob.  If  men  are  to  be  persuaded,  they  must  be 
directed  to  something  definite,  something  in  which  the  rational 
intellect  will  still  be  the  guide  of  action. 

NOTE.  —  Mark  Antony,  in  the  scene  already  cited,  was  but  too  willing  to 
rouse  passions  without  thought.  The  mob  rushed  blindly  forth  to  destroy,  fell 
upon  Cinna  the  poet  and  tore  him  in  pieces  merely  because  he  bore  the  same 
name  with  Cinna  the  conspirator,  were  wholly  uncontrollable  in  their  mad  fury; 
while  Antony,  well  pleased,  satisfied  himself  with  saying,  — 

"  Now  let  it  work.  —  Mischief,  thou  art  afoot, 
Take  thou  what  course  thou  wilt !  " 

Another  remarkable  instance  of  passions  aroused  without  a  basis  of  rea- 
son is  recorded  in  Acts  xix.  23-41,  where  certain  designing  people  lash  a  mob 
to  frenzy  by  an  appeal  to  their  cupidity.  "  Some  therefore  cried  one  thing, 
and  some  another :  for  the  assembly  was  confused ;  and  the  more  part  knew 
not  wherefore  they  were  come  together."  And  when  Alexander  attempted  to 
explain  matters  to  them,  "  all  with  one  voice  about  the  space  of  two  hours 
cried  out, '  Great  is  Diana  of  the  Ephesians.' " 

2.  From  this  it  appears  that  in  every  persuasive  discourse  there 
are  two  elements,  the  didactic  and  the  hortatory.  In  old-fashioned 
oratory  these  two  elements  occupied  different  sections  of  the  dis- 
course ;  but  nowadays  it  is  generally  considered  better  to  have 
them  interwoven,  so  far  as  may  be,  throughout,  so  that  a  fact  or 
argument  may  have  the  power  of  an  appeal,  and  an  appeal  have 
the  solidity  of  information  or  truth.  These  two  elements  may 
have,  however,  varying  emphasis  and  proportion,  according  as  the 
address  is  concerned  more  with  the  end  of  action  or  with  the 
means.  When  men  are  indifferent  to  the  end  proposed,  exhorta- 
tion is  needed  to  rouse  them  to  a  sufficient  sense  of  its  impor- 
tance ;  when,  though  earnest  in  pursuit  of  the  end,  men  are  not 


458  PERSUASION. 

sufficiently  informed  as  to  the  means,  the  didactic  element  must 
predominate,  in  order  to  make  their  action  rational  and  wise. 

NOTE.  —  In  the  late  Civil  War,  for  instance,  when  throughout  the  land 
orators  were  urging  men  to  enlist  and  serve  their  country's  need,  the  question 
of  means  was  but  subordinate,  and  the  principal  element  of  discourse  was 
exhortation.  On  the  other  hand,  in  a  large  proportion  of  pulpit  discourse, 
that  which  is  addressed  to  those  who  have  already  complied  with  the  general 
end  of  obeying  Christ  as  Lord,  the  predominating  element  must  be  educative, 
—  setting  forth  the  means  and  involvements  of  a  Christian  life. 

3.  Of  the  different  forms  of  discourse,  the  address  to  the  intel- 
lect has  to  employ  predominantly  the  argumentative,  because  the 
grounds  of  action  are  mostly  established  as  truths  and  principles. 
But  exposition  also  is  largely  employed,  because  many  truths  need 
only  explanation  to  be  made  obvious.     Narration  and  description 
are  less  prominent,  and  when  used  serve  as  a  means  of  ordering 
questions  of  fact  so  as  to  make  some  theory  of  them  more  self- 
consistent  and  reasonable. 

NOTE.  —  This  use  of  narration  and  description  is  oftenest  exemplified  in 
courts  of  justice,  where  the  elaborate  machinery  of  taking  testimony,  cross- 
examination,  and  so  forth,  may  in  one  light  be  regarded  as  accumulating  mate- 
rial for  a  story  of  the  event  in  question;  and  the  lawyer's  argument  often 
consists  largely  in  reconstructing  the  story  according  to  his  interpretation  of 
the  evidence.  A  good  example  of  this  is  Webster's  account  of  the  murder  of 
Captain  Joseph  White,  which  begins  his  masterly  speech  in  that  case. 

4.  Concerning  the  general  management  of  the  address  to  the 
intellect,  two  remarks  should  be  made. 

First,  it  should  aim  to  conserve,  with  especial  rigor,  economy  of 
the  hearer's  interpreting  power.1  For,  as  all  the  energy  that  must 
be  expended  on  understanding  the  .thought  leaves  the  hearer  so 
much  less  in  realizing  it,  much  more  will  it  leave  him  at  disadvan- 
tage in  acting  upon  it.  The  simplicity,  the  plainness,  the  direct- 
ness, of  all  that  goes  to  explain  or  prove  the  truth  presented  must 
be  as  nearly  as  possible  absolute. 

1  See  preceding,  p.  26. 


PERSUASION.  459 

Secondly,  for  purposes  of  persuasion  thought  should  be  pre- 
sented copiously.  It  is  a  case  where  repetition  and  richness  of 
amplification  are  of  especial  service.  For  the  hearer's  mind  has 
not  merely  to  catch  and  understand  the  thought ;  he  needs  to  be, 
so  to  say,  saturated  with  it,  so  that  he  may  act  with  it  as  his  work- 
ing consciousness.  The  thought  has  therefore  to  be  held  up  to 
view  in  many  aspects,  vivified  with  many  details,  enforced  with 
many  repetitions. 

NOTE.  —  For  the  necessary  characteristics  of  spoken  diction,  as  distinguished 
from  written,  see  preceding,  p.  77. 

A  condensed  and  antithetic  style  is  therefore  not  favorable  to  persuasion, 
at  least  as  the  staple  of  a  discourse;  it  may  come  in  with  good  effect  as  single 
sentences,  introduced  to  give  crispness  and  point  to  what  is  elsewhere  ampli- 
fied. The  comparative  futility  of  such  condensed  style  may  be  illustrated  in 
the  speech  of  Brutus,  in  Shakespeare's  "Julius  Cesar." 

2.  Address  to  the  Feelings.  —  By  this  is  meant  such  use  of 
language,  voice,  and  action,  as  shall  have  power  to  move  the 
emotions  of  the  hearers.  Popularly  it  is  often  understood  to 
mean  making  hearers  weep  or  laugh ;  but,  much  more  deeply 
than  this,  it  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  legitimate  instrument  of  per- 
suasion, whereby  men  are  roused  from  their  too  prevailing  impas- 
siveness  to  feelings  of  pathos  or  sympathy  in  view  of  some 
juncture  of  circumstances  worthy  to  enlist  their  sensibilities. 

i.  An  important  distinction  is  to  be  noted  between  the  address 
to  the  feeling  in  persuasion,  and  pathetic  situations,  adapted  to 
draw  tears,  in  the  drama  or  fiction.  These  latter  exist  merely  for 
themselves ;  they  have  no  ulterior  object.  Noble  emotions  they 
may  indeed  arouse,  emotions  that  elevate  and  chasten ;  but  they 
have  no  call  to  fix  the  emotion  in  will  and  conduct ;  they  are  por- 
trayal, not  persuasion.  Oratorical  address  to  the  feelings,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  merely  a  means  to  an  end ;  it  starts  laughter  or 
tears,  not  for  their  own  sake,  but  because  thereby  the  hearer  is 
made  sympathetic,  alert,  sensitive  to  appeal.  It  bears  the  same 
relation  to  actual  persuasion  that  overcoming  inertia  does  to  the 
working  of  a  machine  :  once  get  the  wheels  in  motion,  and  it  is 


460  PERSUASION. 

comparatively  easy  to  keep  them  going  until  the  motion  is  directed 
to  a  useful  function.  Address  to  the  feelings  as  an  instrument  of 
persuasion  always  contemplates  action. 

2.  We  have  seen  that  argument  and  exposition  predominate  in 
presenting  the  thought  to  the  intellect;  to  rouse  the  emotions, 
however,  the  particularizing  forms,  description  and  narration,  are 
mostly  depended  on.     In  order  to  be  felt,  a  situation  must  be 
vividly   realized   in   imagination ;    therefore    the   portrayal   must 
be  concrete,  picturesque,  impassioned ;  while  special  skill  is  to  be 
devoted  to  putting  in  strong  relief  the   moving  points   of  the 
scene,  those  points  which  are  especially  adapted  to  come  close 
home  to  the  hearer. 

ILLUSTRATION.  —  No  better  exemplification  of  consummate  skill  in  working 
on  men's  emotions  could  be  found  than  Mark  Antony's  speech  over  Caesar's 
dead  body,  as  given  by  Shakespeare.  Familiar  though  it  is,  let  us  quote  a 
part  of  it,  and  note  the  concrete,  vivid,  amplified  portrayal :  — 

"  If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 
You  all  do  know  this  mantle:  I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on ; 
"Twas  on  a  Summer's  evening,  in  his  tent, 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii. 
Look,  in  this  place  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through: 
See  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made : 
Through  this  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabbed; 
And,  as  he  plucked  his  cursed  steel  away, 
Mark  how  the  blood  of  Caesar  follow'd  it, 
As  rushing  out  of  doors,  to  be  resolved 
If  Brutus  so  unkindly  knock'd,  or  no ; 
For  Brutus,  as  you  know,  was  Caesar's  angel : 
Judge,  O  you  gods,  how  dearly  Caesar  loved  him ! 
This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all ; 
For,  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab, 
Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors'  arms, 
Quite  vanquish'd  him:  then  burst  his  mighty  heart; 
And,  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face, 
Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statua, 
Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Caesar  fell." 

3.  In  addressing  the  feelings  the  speaker  has  to  consult  wisely 
the  taste  and  culture  of  the  persons  addressed.     Uneducated  peo- 


PERSUASION.  461 

pie  are  more  easily  swayed  by  pathos  or  humor ;  but  at  the  same 
time  more  palpable  and  striking,,  more  coarse-grained  means,  have 
to  be  used.  The  jokes  must  be  of  the  knock-down  kind ;  the 
pathos  must  be  almost,  or  quite,  melodrama.  Educated  people, 
on  the  other  hand,  act  more  from  judgment  than  from  sympathy, 
and  hence  are  less  susceptible  to  emotional  appeals ;  but  when 
they  are  moved,  it  is  likelier  to  be  by  a  pathetic  touch,  or  by  some 
stroke  on  the  subtler  chords  of  human  nature,  than  by  a  broad 
joke  or  a  display  of  tears. 

NOTE.  —  Such  a  passage  as  the  following  from  Ruskin,  by  its  suggestive 
beauty  of  language,  is  more  potent  with  many  to  rouse  a  pensive  emotion  than 
any  amount  of  painting  with  the  big  brush :  — 

"  I  have  paused,  not  once  nor  twice,  as  I  wrote,  and  often  have  checked 
the  course  of  what  might  otherwise  have  been  importunate  persuasion,  as  the 
thought  has  crossed  me,  how  soon  all  Architecture  may  be  vain,  except  that 
which  is  not  made  with  hands.  There  is  something  ominous  in  the  light  which 
has  enabled  us  to  look  back  with  disdain  upon  the  ages  among  whose  lovely 
vestiges  we  have  been  wandering.  I  could  smile  when  I  hear  the  hopeful 
exultation  of  many,  at  the  new  reach  of  worldly  science,  and  vigor  of  worldly 
effort ;  as  if  we  were  again  at  the  beginning  of  days.  There  is  thunder  on 
the  horizon  as  well  as  dawn.  The  sun  was  risen  upon  the  earth  when  Lot 
entered  Zoar." 

4.  It  is  to  be  remarked  that,  though  we  can  observe  the  mechan- 
ical means,  in  style  or  delivery,  by  which  the  hearer's  emotions 
are  moved,  yet  after  all  there  can  be  no  rule  for  manufacturing 
emotion.     The  feeling  must  first  exist  in  the  speaker  himself,  and 
then  by  the  spontaneous  vigor  of  his  diction,  the  energy  of  his 
action,  the  expression  of  his  countenance,  the  emotion  flows  natu- 
rally from  heart  to  heart.     All  this  was  long  ago  laid  down  by 
Horace,  in  the  oft-quoted  lines,  — 

"  Si  vis  me  flere,  dolendum  est 
Primum  ipsi  tibi ;  tune  tua  me  infortunia  laedent." 

5.  This  requisite  is  quite  independent  of  the  question  how  much 
feeling  one  ought  to  show.    The  speaker  should  be  readier  to 
suppress  than  to  foster  his  emotions ;  and  then  if  in  a  supreme 


462  PERSUASION. 

moment  they  break  from  him  and  betray  themselves,  they  are 
exhibited  to  real  purpose.  Illustrating  this  from  the  case  of 
Webster,  Professor  George  P.  Marsh  says  : 1  "It  was  a  maxim  of 
Webster's,  that  violence  of  language  was  indicative  of  feebleness 
of  thought  and  want  of  reasoning  power,  and  it  was  his  practice 
rather  to  understate  than  overstate  the  strength  of  his  confidence 
in  the  soundness  of  his  own  arguments,  and  the  logical  necessity 
of  his  conclusions.  He  kept  his  auditor  constantly  in  advance  of 
him,  by  suggestion  rather  than  by  strong  asseveration,  by  a  calm 
exposition  of  considerations  which  ought  to  excite  feeling  in  the 
heart  of  both  speaker  and  hearer,  not  by  an  undignified  and  theat- 
rical exhibition  of  passion  in  himself." 

NOTE.  —  After  this  account  of  Webster's  habitual  moderation  and  self- 
repression,  it  will  be  interesting  to  note  one  instance  in  his  career  when  his 
emotion  mastered  him  in  spite  of  repression.  Dr.  Goodrich  thus  described 
the  scene  at  the  close  of  his  speech  in  defence  of  his  Alma  Mater,  Dartmouth 
College :  — 

" '  It  is,  Sir,  as  I  have  said,  a  small  college.  And  yet  there  are  those  who 
love  it '  — 

"  Here,  the  feelings,  which  he  had  thus  far  succeeded  in  keeping  down, 
broke  forth.  His  lips  quivered  ;  his  firm  cheeks  trembled  with  emotion  ;  his 
eyes  were  filled  with  tears,  his  voice  choked,  and  he  seemed  struggling  to  the 
utmost  simply  to  gain  that  mastery  over  himself  which  might  save  him  from 
an  unmanly  burst  of  feeling.  I  will  not  attempt  to  give  you  the  few  broken 
words  of  tenderness  in  which  he  went  on  to  speak  of  his  attachment  to  the 
college.  The  whole  seemed  to  be  mingled  throughout  with  the  recollections 
of  father,  mother,  brother,  and  all  the  privations  and  trials  through  which  he 
had  made  his  way  into  life.  Every  one  saw  that^  it  was  wholly  unpremedi- 
tated, a  pressure  on  his  heart,  which  sought  relief  in  words  and  tears. 

"  The  court-room  during  these  two  or  three  minutes  presented  an  extraordi- 
nary spectacle.  Chief- Justice  Marshall,  with  his  tall  and  gaunt  figure  bent  over, 
as  if  to  catch  the  slightest  whisper,  the  deep  furrows  of  his  cheek  expanded 
with  emotion,  and  his  eyes  suffused  with  tears ;  Mr.  Justice  Washington  at 
his  side,  —  with  his  small  and  emaciated  frame,  and  countenance  more  like 
marble  than  I  ever  saw  on  any  other  human  being,  —  leaning  forward  with 
an  eager,  troubled  look  ;  and  the  remainder  of  the  court,  at  the  two  extrem- 
ities, pressing,  as  it  were,  towards  a  single  point,  while  the  audience  below 

1  Marsh,  "  Lectures  on  the  English  Language,"  p.  235. 


PERSUASION.  463 

were  wrapping  themselves  round  in  closer  folds  beneath  the  bench,  to  catch 
each  look  and  every  movement  of  the  speaker.  If  a  painter  could  give  us  the 
scene  on  canvas,  —  those  forms  and  countenances,  and  Daniel  Webster  as  he 
there  stood  in  the  midst,  —  it  would  be  one  of  the  most  touching  pictures  in 
the  history  of  eloquence.  One  thing  it  taught  me,  that  the  Pathetic  depends 
not  merely  on  the  words  uttered,  but  still  more  on  the  estimate  we  put  upon 
him  who  utters  them.  There  was  not  one  among  the  strong-minded  men  of 
that  assembly  who  could  think  it  unmanly  to  weep,  when  he  saw  standing 
before  him  the  man  who  had  made  such  an  argument  melted  into  the  tender- 
ness of  a  child." 

3.  Address  to  the  Will. — As  has  been  repeatedly  intimated, 
this  is  the  element  in  which  persuasion  culminates,  the  element 
that  makes  the  form  of  address  distinctively  persuasive.  The 
address  to  the  intellect  and  to  the  feelings,  as  we  have  seen, 
merely  employs  the  literary  forms  already  defined  —  argument, 
exposition,  narration,  description.  In  the  address  to  the  will, 
however,  we  reach  a  distinctive  form,  which  we  may  term  Appeal.' 
By  it  the  speaker  identifies  the  matter  and  sentiment  of  his 
discourse  with  the  active  principles  of  human  nature,  that  is,  with 
the  motives  that  every  man  owns  it  incumbent  on  him  to  be  gov- 
erned by. 

i.  The  relation  of  the  address  to  the  will  to  the  address  to  the 
feelings  has  been  already  indicated.  To  rouse  the  feelings  without 
utilizing  them  for  action  is  merely  theatrical,  melodramatic.  It  is 
the  speaker's  duty  rather,  having  touched  the  springs  of  enthusi- 
asm, sympathy,  or  pathos,  to  give  these  emotions  an  immediate 
impulse  and  direction ;  the  practical  outcome  of  them  is  the 
answer  to  the  question,  What  shall  we  do  ? 

NOTE.  —  Dr.  John  Brown,  in  his  "  Spare  Hours,"  in  speaking  of  the  appar- 
ent hardness  of  medical  students,  thus  draws  the  distinction  between  emotions 
directed  and  emotions  undirected :  — 

"  Don't  think  them  heartless  ;  they  are  neither  better  nor  worse  than  you 
or  I ;  they  get  over  their  professional  horrors,  and  into  their  proper  work  ; 
and  in  them  pity,  as  an  emotion,  ending  in  itself  or  at  best  in  tears  and  a  long- 
drawn  breath,  lessens,— while  pity,  as  a  motive,  is  quickened,  and  gains 
power  and  purpose.  It  is  well  for  poor  human  nature  that  it  is  so." 


464  PERSUASION. 

2.  Such  impulse  to  the  will  is,  however,  communicated   indi- 
rectly.    People  are  not  apt  to  respond  to  a  direct  assault  on  their 
will ;  it  is  too  much  like  compulsion.     They  will  maintain  their 
action  free ;  and  in  doing  what  the  speaker  wills  they  will  please 
themselves  with  doing  what   they   themselves  will.     Hence   the 
proposed  action  must  be  so  placed  before  them  as  to  coincide 
with  their  own  desires  and  interests ;  not  by  itself,  but  through 
certain  intermediate  active  principles  called  motives. 

It  is  in  the  skillful  appeal  to  motives  that  the  orator  has  the 
secret  of  influence  with  his  audience.  For  motives  are  the  univer- 
sally recognized  springs  of  moral  action,  the  causes  of  which  deeds 
are  the  effects.  Men  cannot  escape  them,  nor  is  it  in  the  power 
of  the  soul  deliberately  to  forswear  them.  Every  earnest  man  is 
desirous  to  have  his  conduct  manifest  some  worthy  source  and 
impulsion ;  and  men  will  manufacture  or  profess  good  motives  if 
jn  their  secret  hearts  they  have  them  not.  To  say  then  that  it 
is  desirable  to  appeal  to  motives  is  not  enough;  it  is  futile  not 
to  base  conduct  or  proposed  action  on  motive. 

NOTE. —  Hence  it  is  that  in  investigating  the  actions  of  men,  motives  are 
necessarily  taken  for  granted.  In  criminal  cases,  for  instance,  arguments  from 
sign  and  circumstance  seek  to  substantiate  themselves  by  finding  some  ten- 
dency in  the  man,  good  or  bad,  sufficient  to  cause  the  deed  ;  and  if  a  sufficient 
motive  to  a  strange  act  cannot  be  found,  or  is  obviously  wanting,  the  fact 
throws  doubt  on  the  sanity  of  the  perpetrator.  Thus  in  the  universal  practical 
mind  of  men,  motiveless  ideas  either  belong  to  the  irresponsible  vagaries  of 
madness,  or  are  the  mere  riot  of  invention,  — 

"  Fantastic  beauty ;  such  as  lurks 
In  some  wild  Poet,  when  he  works 
Without  a  conscience  or  an  aim." 

3.  Leaving  out  of  view  evil  motives,  which  of  course  it  would 
be  the  deserved  destruction  of  any  cause  to  avow,  there  are  good 
motives  of  all  degrees  and  kinds,  to  which  the  orator  may  appeal 
as  a  universal  currency  of  human  nature.     These  cannot  here  be 
described  in  detail ;  but  we  may  get  an  idea  of  their  scope  from 


PERSUASION.  465 

the  classes  into  which  they  may  be  divided.    They  may  be  com- 
prised under  three  heads :  — 

Duty  to  ourselves,  — 

self-respect,  prudence,  reputation,  integrity,  and  the  like ; 

Duty  to  our  kind, — 

which  includes  also  duty  to  country  and  common  weal ; 

Duty  to  God,  — 

which  comprises  the  highest  and  worthiest  spiritual  virtues. 
If  a  hearer  will  not  respond  to  such  considerations  as  these,  the 
disgrace  lies  with  him  who  refuses  to  obey,  not  with  the  speaker 
who  fails  to  persuade  him. 

The  appeal  to  motive  takes  several  aspects. 

First,  and  most  common,  it  is  a  direct  identification  of  the  pro- 
posed action  with  principles  that  ought  to  be  potent  for  conduct. 
The  scale  of  worthiness  in  such  recognition  of  motives  may  com- 
prehend various  degrees,  from  simple  worldly  prudence  up  to  the 
highest  consciousness  of  relation  with  God ;  and  the  appeal  should 
be  to  the  highest  that  can  be  counted  on  for  effect. 

EXAMPLE.  —  In  the  following,  from  Macaulay's  Speech  on  the  Reform  Bill, 
the  motive  appealed  to  is  solicitude  for  a  nation's  stability  and  welfare :  — 

"  I  am  far  indeed  from  wishing  that  the  Members  of  this  House  should  be 
influenced  by  fear,  in  the  bad  and  unworthy  sense  of  that  word.  But  there  is 
an  honest  and  honorable  fear,  which  well  becomes  those  who  are  intrusted 
with  the  dearest  interests  of  a  great  community;  and  to  that  fear  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  make  an  earnest  appeal.  It  is  very  well  to  talk  of  confronting 
sedition  boldly,  and  of  enforcing  the  law  against  those  who  would  disturb  the 
public  peace.  No  doubt  a  tumult  caused  by  local  and  temporary  irritation 
ought  to  be  suppressed  with  promptitude  and  vigor.  Such  disturbances,  for 
example,  as  those  which  Lord  George  Gordon  raised  in  1780,  should  be 
instantly  put  down  with  the  strong  hand.  But  woe  to  the  Government  which 
cannot  distinguish  between  a  nation  and  a  mob !  Woe  to  the  Government 
which  thinks  that  a  great,  a  steady,  a  long  continued  movement  of  the  public 
mind  is  to  be  stopped  like  a  street  riot !  This  error  has  been  twice  fatal  to  the 
great  House  of  Bourbon.  God  be  praised,  our  rulers  have  been  wiser.  The 
golden  opportunity  which,  if  once  suffered  to  escape,  might  never  have  been 
retrieved,  has  been  seized.  Nothing,  I  firmly  believe,  can  now  prevent  the 
passing  of  this  noble  law,  this  second  Bill  of  Rights," 


466  PERSUASION. 

But  secondly,  the  appeal  to  worthy  motive  is  not  always  explicit. 
It  is  often  made  even  more  effective  by  being  pervasive,  permeat- 
ing structure  and  style,  phrase  and  word,  so  that  the  hearer  is  at 
every  step  inspired  by  lofty  standards  and  aims.  It  is  this  that 
makes  a  true  oration  preeminently  ethical :  it  is  an  embodied 
appeal  to  what  is  righteous  in  man. 

EXAMPLE.  —  Consider,  for  instance,  the  lofty  and  yet  potent  sentiment  that 
pervades  the  following  passage,  from  Burke's  Conciliation  Speech :  — 

"  Deny  them  [the  Americans]  this  participation  of  freedom,  and  you  break 
that  sole  bond,  which  originally  made,  and  must  still  preserve,  the  unity  of  the 
Empire.  Do  not  entertain  so  weak  an  imagination,  as  that  your  registers  and 
your  bonds,  your  affidavits  and  your  sufferances,  your  cockets  and  your  clear- 
ances, are  what  form  the  great  securities  of  your  commerce.  Do  not  dream 
that  your  letters  of  office,  and  your  instructions,  and  your  suspending  clauses, 
are  the  things  that  hold  together  the  great  contexture  of  the  mysterious  whole. 
These  things  do  not  make  your  government.  Dead  instruments,  passive  tools 
as  they  are,  it  is  the  spirit  of  the  English  communion  that  gives  all  their  life 
and  efficacy  to  them.  It  is  the  spirit  of  the  English  Constitution,  which, 
infused  through  the  mighty  mass,  pervades,  feeds,  unites,  invigorates,  vivifies 
every  part  of  the  empire,  even  down  to  the  minutest  member. 

"Is  it  not  the  same  virtue  which  does  everything  for  us  here  in  England? 
Do  you  imagine  then,  that  it  is  the  Land  Tax  Act  which  raises  your  revenue  ? 
that  it  is  the  annual  vote  in  the  Committee  of  Supply  which  gives  you  your 
army?  or  that  it  is  the  Mutiny  Bill  which  inspires  it  with  bravery  and  discipline? 
No!  surely  no!  It  is  the  love  of  the  people;  it  is  their  attachment  to  their 
government,  from  the  sense  of  the  deep  stake  they  have  in  such  a  glorious 
institution  —  which  gives  you  your  army  and  your  navy,  and  infuses  into  both 
that  liberal  obedience,  without  which  your  army  would  be  a  base  rabble,  and 
your  navy  nothing  but  rotten  timber." 

This  is  as  truly  appeal  to  motive,  though  indirect,  as  when  the  orator  says 
later :  "  We  ought  to  elevate  our  minds  to  the  greatness  of  that  trust  to  which 
the  order  of  Providence  has  called  us." 

Thirdly,  such  appeal  may  in  strong  cases  take  the  form  of  invec- 
tive, which  is  simply  appeal  in  negative ;  that  is,  it  endeavors  to 
shame  the  hearers  out  of  unworthy  motives  and  acts,  in  favor 
of  motives  more  consonant  with  the  cause  and  the  men.  Just  as 
one  may  appeal  to  justice,  patriotism,  honesty,  benevolence,  so  he 
may  inveigh  against  wrong,  cowardice,  meanness,  selfishness.  The 


PERSUASION.  467 

urgency  of  the  occasion,  together  with  the  vehemence  or  tact 
of  the  speaker,  determines  the  method.  It  should  be  observed, 
that  from  the  beginning  the  drift  of  sentiment  has  been  more  and 
more  against  using  personalities ;  it  is  principles,  rather  than  men, 
that  should  be  attacked. 

EXAMPLE.  —  The  following,  from  Charles  James  Fox,  convicts  Mr.  Pitt  of 
public  dishonesty  and  lack  of  faith,  as  part  of  the  refutation  of  his  posi- 
tion :  — 

"  Sir,  I  will  not  say  that  in  all  this  he  was  not  honest  to  his  own  purpose, 
and  that  he  has  not  been  honest  in  his  declarations  and  confessions  this  night ; 
but  I  cannot  agree  that  he  was  honest  to  this  House  or  honest  to  the  people  of 
this  country.  To  this  House  it  was  not  honest  to  make  them  counteract  the 
sense  of  the  people,  as  he  knew  it  to  be  expressed  in  the  petitions  upon  the 
table,  nor  was  it  honest  to  the  country  to  act  in  a  disguise,  and  to  pursue  a 
secret  purpose  unknown  to  them,  while  affecting  to  take  the  road  which  they 
pointed  out.  I  know  not  whether  this  may  not  be  honesty  in  the  political 
ethics  of  the  right  honorable  gentlemen ;  but  I  know  that  it  would  be  called 
by  a  very  different  name  in  the  common  transactions  of  society,  and  in  the 
rules  of  morality  established  in  private  life.  I  know  of  nothing  in  the  history 
of  this  country  that  it  resembles,  except,  perhaps,  one  of  the  most  profligate 
periods  —  the  reign  of  Charles  II.,  when  the  case  of  Dunkirk  might  probably 
have  been  justified  by  the  same  pretense.  That  monarch  also  declared  war 
against  France,  and  did  it  to  cover  a  negotiation  by  which,  in  his  difficulties, 
he  was  to  gain  a  '  solid  system  of  finance.' " 

Fourthly,  it  is  not  infrequently  in  the  orator's  skill  to  balance 
between  a  lower  motive  and  a  higher;  and  the  decision  rests 
largely  on  the  nature  of  the  effect  that  he  would  produce.  A 
lower  motive,  as  for  instance  expediency,  or  pecuniary  interest, 
generally  produces  a  more  immediate  effect,  and  on  a  larger 
though  lower  class;  a  higher  motive  is  more  flattering  to  the 
audience  and  produces  a  worthier  effect,  though  not  so  wide- 
spread. It  is  the  business  of  reforms  and  of  advancing  civilization 
to  bring  men  to  a  higher  plane  of  motive ;  while  the  favorite  plea 
of  those  who  oppose  such  movements  is  that  the  motives,  though 
good,  are  too  high  to  be  practical,  —  that  the  world  will  not  thrive 
on  "  Sunday-school  politics,"  An  assertion,  surely,  whose  truth  is 
too  little  tested, 


468  PERSUASION. 

The  wise  orator,  therefore,  who  can  seize  the  occasion,  will  seek 
to  base  his  cause  on  motives  that  are  both  good  and  practical ; 
if  he  cannot  give  potency  to  the  highest  motive  that  can  be,  he 
will  use  the  highest  that  can  produce  the  effect  he  desires,  and  in 
the  way  he  desires. 

NOTE.  —  The  difference  of  level  in  motives,  and  the  kind  of  motives  that 
prove  of  practical  effect,  are  strikingly  illustrated  by  the  history  of  the  abolition 
of  the  Licensing  Act.  Milton,  in  his  "  Areopagitica,"  had  argued  against 
submitting  literature  to  a  licensing  body,  but  without  effect  because,  as  Profes- 
sor Bain 1  says,  "  the  motives  appealed  to  are  not  those  of  ordinary  English- 
men, and  are  in  some  instances  mere  poetic  fancies."  When,  however,  the 
Act  was  repealed,  the  reasons  against  it  were  put  on  a  much  lower  plane. 
Macaulay  thus  describes  it :  — 

"  Clarke  delivered  to  the  Lords  in  the  Painted  Chamber  a  paper  containing 
the  reasons  which  had  determined  the  Lower  House  not  to  renew  the  Licens- 
ing Act.  This  paper  completely  vindicates  the  resolution  to  which  the  Com- 
mons had  come.  But  it  proves  at  the  same  time  that  they  knew  not  what  they 
were  doing,  what  a  revolution  they  were  making,  what  a  power  they  were 
calling  into  existence.  They  pointed  out  concisely,  clearly,  forcibly,  and  some- 
times with  a  grave  irony  which  is  not  unbecoming,  the  absurdities  and  iniqui- 
ties of  the  statute  which  was  about  to  expire.  But  all  their  objections  will  be 
found  to  relate  to  matters  of  detail.  On  the  great  question  of  principle,  on 
the  question  whether  the  liberty  of  unlicensed  printing  be  on  the  whole,  a 
blessing  or  a  curse  to  society,  not  a  word  is  said.  The  Licensing  Act  is  con- 
demned, not  as  a  thing  essentially  evil,  but  on  account  of  the  petty  grievances, 
the  exactions,  the  jobs,  the  commercial  restrictions,  the  domiciliary  visits, 
which  were  incidental  to  it.  ...  Such  were  the  arguments  which  did  what 
Milton's  Areopagitica  had  failed  to  do." 

II.     ORATORY. 

As  has  been  intimated  throughout  the  foregoing  section,  the 
form  that  persuasion  takes  in  literature,  being  almost  altogether 
oral  address,  is  oratory.  The  principles  of  oratory  are  therefore 
for  the  most  part  identical  with  the  principles  of  persuasion,  which 
have  just  been  traced.  A  little  further  analysis  is  needed,  however, 
of  oratory  as  a  type  of  literature. 

1  See  the  account  of  this  transaction,  Bain's  "  Rhetoric,"  pp.  220-223^ 


PERSUASION.  469 

Oratory  has  already  been  named  (see  page  3)  as  one  of  three 
broad  literary  types,  distinct  from  didactic  prose  on  the  one  hand, 
and  from  poetry  on  the  other,  yet  partaking  largely  of  both.  It  is 
the  type  which,  for  success,  calls  for  the  largest  resources,  being  an 
address  to  the  whole  man  —  intellect  and  feeling,  culminating  in 
appeal  to  the  will,  —  and  therefore  utilizing  most  fully  the  highest 
powers  of  the  rhetorical  art. 

I. 

Characteristics  of  Oratory  in  General.  —  The  sphere  of  truths 
in  which  oratory  moves,  and  the  fact  that  these  truths  must  be 
brought  home  for  immediate  effect  upon  an  audience,  make  im- 
perative some  characteristics  of  oratory  which,  though  they  have 
already  been  intimated,  need  to  be  here  briefly  recapitulated. 

Eloquence,  the  Sum  of  the  Oratorio  Style. — To  define  elo- 
quence, in  the  fullness  of  its  idea,  is  as  hard  as  it  is  to  define  poetry. 
Mechanically,  it  may  be  described  as  impassioned  prose,1  obeying 
the  laws  and  liberties  of  spoken  discourse.2  But  this  brings  us 
only  a  little  way  toward  a  definition.  To  true  eloquence  so  many 
things  are  essential  —  the  character  of  the  orator,  his  skill  in  sway- 
ing the  emotions  and  sentiments  of  an  audience,  the  greatness  of 
subject  and  occasion  —  that  a  brief  definition  is  impossible.  Per- 
haps we  can  do  no  better  than  to  take  Daniel  Webster's  descrip- 
tion of  eloquence,  inwoven  as  it  is  throughout  with  the  quality  he 
is  defining.  He  says  : 3  — 

"  When  public  bodies  are  to  be  addressed  on  momentous  occa- 
sions, when  great  interests  are  at  stake,  and  strong  passions  excited, 
nothing  is  valuable  in  speech  farther  than  as  it  is  connected  with 
high  intellectual  and  moral  endowments.  Clearness,  force,  and 
earnestness  are  the  qualities  which  produce  conviction.  True  elo- 
quence, indeed,  does  not  consist  in  speech.  It  cannot  be  brought 

1  See  preceding,  p.  71. 

2  See  preceding,  p.  76. 

8  Webster,  Oration  on  "Adams  and  Jefferson." 


470  PERSUASION. 

from  far.  Labor  and  learning  may  toil  for  it,  but  they  will  toil  in 
vain.  Words  and  phrases  may  be  marshalled  in  every  way,  but 
they  cannot  compass  it.  It  must  exist  in  the  man,  in  the  subject, 
and  in  the  occasion.  Affected  passion,  intense  expression,  the 
pomp  of  declamation,  all  may  aspire  to  it ;  they  cannot  reach  it. 
It  comes,  if  it  come  at  all,  like  the  outbreaking  of  a  fountain  from 
the  earth,  or  the  bursting  forth  of  volcanic  fires,  with  spontaneous, 
original,  native  force.  The  graces  taught  in  the  schools,  the  costly 
ornaments  and  studied  contrivances  of  speech,  shock  and  disgust 
men,  when  their  own  lives,  and  the  fate  of  their  wives,  their  chil- 
dren, and  their  country,  hang  on  the  decision  of  the  hour.  Then 
words  have  lost  their  power,  rhetoric  is  vain,  and  all  elaborate 
oratory  contemptible.  Even  genius  itself  then  feels  rebuked  and 
subdued,  as  in  the  presence  of  higher  qualities.  Then  patriotism 
is  eloquent ;  then  self-devotion  is  eloquent.  The  clear  conception, 
outrunning  the  deductions  of  logic,  the  high  purpose,  the  firm 
resolve,  the  dauntless  spirit,  speaking  on  the  tongue,  beaming  from 
the  eye,  informing  every  feature,  and  urging  the  whole  man  onward, 
right  onward  to  his  object, — this,  this  is  eloquence;  or  rather,  it 
is  something  greater  and  higher  than  all  eloquence,  —  it  is  action, 
noble,  sublime,  godlike  action." 

From  the  above  paragraph  let  us  endeavor  to  draw  some  practi- 
cal conclusions  for  our  benefit  in  oratory. 

1 .  Eloquence  is  not  synonymous  with  an  ambitious  or  preten- 
tious style,  nor  is  it  unfriendly  to  the  plainest  language.     It  is  sim- 
ply wise  to  take  advantage  of  occasion.     When  the  occasion  itself 
is  eloquent,  then  eloquence  shows  its  genuineness  by  silence ;  and 
it  knows  when  homeliness  and  even  bareness  of  statement  works 
with  the  occasion  to  have  power  on  men. 

2.  Eloquence  does,  however,  exclude  considerations  that  are 
subtle  and  far-fetched,  hair-splitting  discriminations  of  thought, 
over-literary  phrase  and  imagery ;  because  these  are  ill  adapted  to 
the  transparency  of  spoken  style,  and  do  not  appeal  to  the  manner 
of  thinking  of  average  people,  for  whom  oratory  exists. 

3.  Eloquence,  dealing  with  common  men,  moves  most  naturally 


PERSUASION.  471 

among  common  thoughts,  grounds  itself  on  everyday  motives  and 
principles,  and  is  indeed  embodied  common-sense.  Its  ideal  is 
dignified  conversation,  grappling  closely  and  earnestly  with  the 
important  issues  of  life. 

4.  When  on  occasion  eloquence  rises  into  splendor  of  style  and 
imagery  as  it  has  full  liberty  to  do,  it  is  still  at  the  impulsion  of  a 
practical  end.  Such  flights  cannot  be  mechanical,  and  if  not  com- 
pelled by  the  subject  they  are  but  bombast  and  fustian.  There 
must  be  a  man  and  a  cause  underneath  them,  so  informing  that 
they  shall  appear  as  inevitable. 

Exactions  of  the  Popular  Element  in  Oratory.  —  Oratory  is,  in 
the  truest  sense,  popular  literature ;  that  is,  it  exists  for  the  people, 
for  low  as  well  as  high.  This  fact  has  a  very  determining  influence 
on  the  general  structure  of  the  oration,  and  on  the  kinds  of  argu- 
ments and  considerations  most  to  be  relied  on  for  effect. 

1.  As  to  general  structure,  the  oration  is,  of  all  literary  forms, 
most  dependent  on  the  qualities  of  unity  and  simplicity.     It  will 
not  do  for  the  orator  to  content  himself  lazily  with  saying  "  some- 
thing about "  his  chosen  subject.     He  needs  first  of  all  to  resolve 
his  thought  into  absolute  unity  of  aim  and  effect,  rejecting  merci- 
lessly all  that  distracts  from  this  or  unduly  delays  it.    Then  for 
working  this  effect,  let  him  depend  on  a  few  points  so  clearly 
articulated  and  so  strongly  maintained  that  no  hearer  can  mistake 
their  drift.1 

2.  As  to  the  kinds  of  argument  most  relied  on  in  oratory,  we  may 
say,  in  general,  they  are  the  arguments  wherein  there  is  only  one 
step  from  premise  to  conclusion.     Such  are,  preeminently,  argu- 
ments from  example  and  analogy,  which  may  almost  be  called  the 
distinctive  oratorical  forms.     Long  trains  of  inductive  reasoning 
are  perhaps  least  fitted  for  oratory ;  and,  in  general,  no  kind  of 
argument  should  be  used  where  the  end  is  long  uncertain,  or 
where  the  premises  are  meaningless  without  their  conclusion.     It 

1  For  some  excellent  rules  and  remarks  on  the  management  of  a  popular  ad- 
dress, see  Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson's  little  handbook,  "Hints  on  Writing 
and  Speech-Making." 


472  PERSUASION. 

is  not  safe  to  leave  any  loop-holes  for  a  remission  of  attention ; 
nor,  on  the  other  hand,  to  leave  places  which,  if  remitted,  will  in- 
validate what  succeeds. 

Every  argument  should  contain,  as  far  as  possible,  its  own  prac- 
tical application ;  should,  by  its  very  form  and  nature,  be  so  living 
with  appeal  that  no  further  adjustment  to  conduct  will  be  needed 
by  way  of  application. 

II. 

Kinds  of  Oratory.  —  According  to  the  various  spheres  of  ac- 
tion with  which  persuasion  has  to  deal,  we  recognize  certain  broad 
classes  of  oratory. 

As  persuasion,  which  is  the  distinctive  element  of  orator)',  im- 
plies incitement  to  a  determinate  issue  in  conduct,  such  public 
lectures  and  addresses  as  seek  merely  to  give  information  or  enter- 
tainment do  not  properly  come  under  the  head  of  oratory.  The 
accident  of  their  public  oral  delivery  demands  that  they  conform 
to  the  requisites  of  spoken  style,  as  already  shown  on  page  79 ; 
further  than  this  they  belong  merely  to  didactic  or  descriptive 
literature  in  its  ordinary  types. 

Oratoric  discourses  that  do  seek  a  determinate  issue  may  be 
divided  into  two  classes,  according  as  the  issue  is  immediate  and 
definite  or  remote  and  unlimited. 

1.  Determinate  Oratory.  — This  name  we  may  give  to  oratory 
that  contemplates  direct  and  immediate  action  as  its  result ;  that 
is,  action  that  may  express  itself  in  a  vote,  or  in  a  verdict,  or  more 
generally  in  a  change  and  improvement  of  life.  Oratory  of  this 
kind  may  be  grouped  under  three  heads. 

i.  Oratory  of  the  law,  or  forensic  oratory,  is  concerned  with  the 
general  end  of  justice  and  right.  It  is  the  most  direct  and  prac- 
tical kind  of  oratory,  dealing  with  plain  facts  and  principles,  and 
laboring  to  secure  an  immediate  verdict  on  the  truths  brought  to 
light.  The  staple  of  it  therefore  is  ordinarily  very  simple  and 
direct ;  but  there  is  also  room  for  occasional  efforts  of  the  highest 
eloquence. 


PERSUASION.  473 

2.  Oratory  of  legislative  assemblies  or  parliamentary  oratory,  is 
concerned  with  the  general  end  of  public  weal  and  political  expe* 
diency.     Its  range  of  resources  is  very  great,  having  for  its  sphere 
whatever  may  influence  political  action  for  the   future,  and   all 
motives  from  lowest  to  highest.     The  modern  taste  in  oratory  of 
this  class  is  unfriendly  to  the  elaborate  efforts  of  antiquity,  or  even 
of  a  century  ago  ;  and  parliamentary  debate  is  becoming  more  and 
more  a  matter  of  business.     A  more  popular  form  of  such  oratory, 
and  sometimes  more  fiery  and  ambitious,  is  seen  in  platform  polit- 
ical speaking,  which  labors  for  the  end  of  influencing  votes  and 
shaping  public  opinion. 

3.  Oratory  of  the  pulpit,  or  sacred  oratory,  is  concerned  with 
the  general  end  of  inducing  men  to  follow  Christ,  and  by  conse- 
quence of  reforming  and  developing  their  moral  and  spiritual  life. 
In  seeking  such  a  lofty  and  comprehensive   issue,  it  must  both 
work  for  immediate  effect,  in  the  case  of  those  whose  first  duty  is 
to  yield  to  divine  claims,  and  for  a  remoter  compliance,  in  the 
case  of  those  whose  spiritual  life  needs  education  and  enlighten- 
ment.    It  fails,  however,  when  it  wanders  too  far  from  a  definite 
and  immediate  issue ;  just  as  it  is  more  glorified  in  proportion  as 
it  comes  close  home  to  people  and  speaks  in  the  language  of  their 
daily  business. 

2.  Demonstrative  Oratory.  — This  name  may  be  given  to  that 
class  of  orations  wherein  no  defined  end  is  directly  proposed, 
but  wherein  none  the  less  the  demands  of  persuasion  are  pres- 
ent, in  a  general  impulsion  toward  noble,  patriotic,  and  honor- 
able sentiments,  and  toward  a  large  and  worthy  life.  Oratory 
of  this  kind  may  be  exemplified  in  such  addresses  as  Webster's  at 
Bunker  Hill  and  on  the  First  Settlement  of  New  England,  Ever- 
ett's oration  on  The  Character  of  Washington,  and  Elaine's  eulogy 
of  President  Garfield.  Much  of  the  better  class  of  platform  speak- 
ing, when  the  country  is  in  the  grasp  of  great  public  questions, 
partakes  largely  of  this  character. 

There  is  a  field  for  such  demonstrative  oratory  much  more  im- 
portant than  people  ordinarily  realize.  It  is,  or  may  be  made,  a 


474  PERSUASION. 

great  educator.  The  people,  in  whose  hands  is  the  government, 
need  just  and  lofty  ideas  on  great  issues,  need  continually  to  be 
lifted  to  a  higher  plane  of  public  opinion.  And  this  is  needed  not 
only  when  a  vote  hangs  directly  on  the  orator's  effort,  but  also 
when  the  people  can  with  leisurely  mind  and  without  partisan 
excitement  consider  large  ideas  in  their  true  light.  The  work  is 
now  mostly  done  by  journalism,  and  great  and  salutary  is  the  influ- 
ence ;  but  the  orator's  field  is  by  no  means  closed,  nor  will  it  be, 
so  long  as  men  delight  in  the  living  voice,  the  warmth  of  elo- 
quence, and  the  presence  of  influential  men. 


INDEXES. 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS. 


[The  titles  o!  main  divisions,  chapters,  and  sections,  are  set  in  small  capitals.] 


Abeyance  of  judgments,  234. 

Ablative  absolute,  equivalent  of,  158. 

ABSTRACT,  307 ;  occasion  and  method 
of,  307;  rules  of,  310;  value  of  as 
discipline,  309. 

Abstract  and  concrete,  relations  of  in  am- 
plification, 291. 

ACCESSORIES  OF  AMPLIFICATION,  297; 
of  description,  338. 

Accurate  use  of  words,  29. 

Achievement  of  object,  the  speaker's, 
456. 

Adaptation,  the  task  of  rhetoric,  i ;  ways 
of  in  discourse,  2. 

Adjective,  placing  of,  117. 

Adverb,  placing  of,  119. 

Adjustment,  inversion  for,  166. 

Adversative  conjunctional  relation,  142. 

A  fortiori  argument,  421. 

Alertness,  mental,  227. 

Allegory,  94. 

Alliance  with  audience,  the   speaker's, 

449- 

Alliteration,  60;  use  of  in '  description, 
342. 

Allusion,  298. 

Alternation  of  types  in  diction,  75. 

Alternative  as  basis  of  argument,  429. 

AMPLIFICATION,  285;  ACCESSORIES  OF, 
297 ;  MEANS  OF,  290 ;  of  syllogism, 
427;  not  always  desirable,  286;  the 
writer's  mood  in,  285 ;  USES  OF,  286; 
why  needed,  288. 

Amplifying  paragraph,  the,  211. 

Amplitude  of  style,  151. 

Analogy,  argument  from,  422 ;  exposition 

by,  395- 
Analysis,    as    instrument  of   refutation, 

433- 


Analytical  judgment  in  interpretation,  305. 

Anecdotes,  use  of  in  amplification,  296. 

Antecedent,  discrimination  of,  123;  rec- 
ognition of  nature  of,  132. 

Anti-climax,  106. 

Antique  diction,  82. 

Antithesis,  102;  exposition  by,  392;  use 
in  description,  340. 

Aphoristic  literature,  287. 

A  posteriori  argument,  417. 

Apostrophe,  98. 

Appeal,  distinctive  of  persuasion,  463; 
to  motives,  explicit,  465;  implicit, 
466. 

A  priori  argument,  417. 

Aptitude,  as  related  to  art,  4 ;  marks  of 
inventive,  221. 

Archaic  terms,  affectation  of,  38. 

Archaisms,  poetic,  52. 

Argument  a  fortiori,  421 ;  a  posteriori, 
417;  a  priori,  417;  deductive,  424; 
from  analogy,  422;  from  example, 
421 ;  inductive,  416 ;  kinds  of,  in  ora- 
tory, 471. 

ARGUMENTATION,  407;  theme  in,  257; 
what  it  owes  to  exposition,  439. 

Argumentative  form  predominant  in  ora- 
tory, 458. 

Arguments  from  sign,  419;  order  of,  441 ; 

THE  BODY  OF,  439. 

Arrangement  of  words  in  prose,  66. 
Art  and  science  discriminated,  4. 
Article,  etc.,  placing  of,  118. 
Artifice,  futility  of,  in  persuasion,  450. 
Association,  laws  of,  273. 
Assonance,  61. 

Audience,  speaker's  alliance  with,  449. 
Augmentation,  150. 
Authority,  413. 


478 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS. 


Balanced  sentence,  191. 

Balanced  structure,  164. 

Bathos,  106. 

Beauty  of  style,  23. 

Beginnings  and  endings,  paragraph,  209. 

Bibliography,  use  of  interest  in,  241. 

Biography,  378. 

Bookishness,  antidote  to,  231. 

Brevity,  poetic,  50. 

Burden  of  proof,  \\\. 

Cadence,  171. 

Cant,  48. 

Catholicity  of  taste,  228. 

Cause  and  effect,  law  of,  275. 

Chain  of  reasoning,  the,  428. 

Character,  personal,  in  persuasion,  449. 

CHOICE  OF  WORDS,  29;  in  prose,  64. 

Chronological  order  in  narrative,  361. 

Circumlocution,  153. 

Circumstantial  description,  334. 

Circumstantial  evidence,  419. 

Classical  derivatives,  use  of,  43. 

Classification,  397. 

Clauses,  placing  of,  121. 

Clearness,  elements  of,  19 ;  FIGURES  PRO- 
MOTING, 87;  habit  of  seeking,  232. 

Climax,  105;  as  emphasizing  narrative 
movement,  367 ;  in  plan,  263. 

Coinage  of  new  terms,  36. 

Collective  noun,  concord  of,  112. 

Collocation,  117. 

Colloquial  diction,  82. 

Commonplace  books,  use  of,  242. 

Comparison  by  than,  as,  etc.,  136. 

COMPOSITION,  108. 

Compounds,  poetic  fondness  for,  51. 

Comprehensive  outline,  in   description, 

330- 

Concession,  in  debate,  445. 

Conclusion,  279 ;  form  and  style  of,  280 ; 
relation  to  body  of  discourse,  280. 

Concord  of  subject  and  verb,  no. 

Concrete  and  abstract  in  amplification, 
291. 

CONCRETENESS,  FIGURES  PROMOTING, 
87. 

Condensation,  154;  as  means  of  ab- 
stracting, 309;  for  rapidity,  157;  for 
strength,  154. 


Condensed  expression,  value  of,  286. 
Conditional  clauses,  140,  147. 
Conjunctional  relation,  138. 
Connexion  of  words  in  prose,  67. 
CONSTRUCTION  OF  THE  PLAN,  260;  re- 
quisites of,  262. 
Contiguity,  law  of,  273. 
Continuity  in  the  paragraph,  198 ;  MEANS 

OF  PRESERVING,  282. 

Contrast,  as  emphasizing  narrative  move- 
ment, 366 ;  law  of,  274 ;  principle  of, 
103 ;  use  in  description,  340. 

Conversation,  report  of,  127. 

Coordinating  conjunctions,  139. 

Coordination  of  antecedent,  127. 

Correlation,  135. 

Creative  reading,  235. 

Criticism,  404;    its  initial  requirement, 

3°S- 
Cumulative  conjunctions,  139. 

DEBATE,  444. 

Deduction,  424. 

Deductive  order,  278. 

Definition,  387;  amplified,  389;  logical, 

387- 

Demonstrative,  placing  of,  118. 

Demonstratives,  use  of,  124. 

Dependence,  order  of,  in  narration,  361. 

Derivation  and  history  of  words,  impor- 
tance of  knowing,  33. 

DESCRIPTION,  326;  accessories  of,  338; 
as  aid  to  narration,  369 ;  circumstan- 
tial, 334 ;  definition  of,  326 ;  dynamic, 
335;  IN  ITS  PRINCIPLES,  326;  IN 
LITERATURE,  350 ;  logical,  391 ; 
mechanism  of,  328 ;  objective  and 
subjective,  343 ;  theme  in,  257. 

Detail,  portrayal  without,  337. 

Details,  sequence  of,  in  description,  332 ; 
subdual  of,  334. 

Development,  the,  272. 

Dialect  diction,  82. 

DICTION,  28;  antique,  foreign,  etc.,  82; 
AS  DETERMINED  BY  OBJECT  AND 

OCCASION,   76;    definition   of,   28; 

POETIC,  CHARACTERISTICS  OF,  48 ; 
PROSE,       CHARACTERISTICS        AND 

TYPES  OF,  63;  spoken,  76;  written, 
80 ;  written  for  public  delivery,  79. 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS. 


479 


Didactic  element  in  oratory,  457. 

Didactic  prose,  3. 

Digressions,  207. 

Dilemma,  431. 

Directness  and  emphasis  in  prose  ar- 
rangement, 66. 

Disciplinary  reading,  237. 

Discourse,  definition  of,  i. 

Discovery  of  facts,  408. 

Discursive  narration,  370. 

Distinction  in  headings  of  plan,  263. 

Division ,  396 ;  comprehensiveness  of,  398 ; 
laws  of,  400 ;  minuteness  of,  399 ;  prin- 
ciple of,  397. 

Drama,  381. 

Dynamic  description,  335. 

Dynamic  stress  in  sentences,  181. 

Economy,  principle  of,  25 ;  as  related  to 
persuasion,  458. 

Effects,  Description  by,  342. 

Ellipsis  for  rapidity,  159. 

Elliptical  sentence  structure,  174. 

Eloquence,  469. 

Emotion,  exhibition  of  in  persuasion, 
461 ;  manufactured,  futility  ot,  461. 

Emotions,  forms  of  discourse  adapted  to, 
460 ;  in  different  people,  460 ;  in  ora- 
tory, 459. 

Emphasis,  distribution  of,  179;  FIGURES 
THAT  PROMOTE,  96;  inversion  for, 
165. 

Enforcement,  order  of,  in  thought-build- 
ing, 278. 

Enthymeme,  425. 

Enumeration  in  amplification,  290. 

Epigram,  104. 

Episodes,  362. 

Epithet,  kinds  of,  56 ;  use  of  in  descrip- 
tion, 341 ;  use  of  in  poetry,  56. 

Essay,  the,  403. 

Euphemism,  154. 

Euphony,  167 ;  poetic  regard  for,  60. 

Example,  argument  from,  421 ;  use  of,  in 
amplification,  291. 

Exclamation,  97. 

Exegesis  of  terms,  389. 

Exemplification,  exposition  by,  394. 

Expert  testimony,  414. 

Explicit  reference,  202. 


Expounded  object,  nature  and  form  of, 

384. 

EXPOSITION,  383;  by  analogy,  395;  by 
antithesis,  392;  by  exemplification, 
394 ;  by  iteration  and  obverse,  393 ; 
extensive,  396;  IN  ITS  ELEMENTS, 
384;  IN  LITERATURE,  402;  inten- 
sive, 387;  popular,  405;  what  argu- 
mentation owes  to,  439. 

Expository  theme,  the,  257. 

Failure  in  writing,  sources  of,  4. 

Feelings,  address  to  the,  in  oratory  and 
drama  distinguished,  459 ;  in  persua- 
sion, 459;  how  men  respond  to,  460. 

Fiction,  379. 

Figurative  language,  in  description,  339. 

FIGURES  OF  SPEECH,  85;  use  of  as 
amplifiers,  295 ;  THAT  PROMOTE 

CLEARNESS     AND     CONCRETENESS, 
87 ;    THAT   PROMOTE  EMPHASIS,  96. 

"  Fine  writing,"  45. 
Force  in  style,  elements  of,  21. 
Forecast  of  story,  in  narration,  357. 
Foreign  diction,  82. 
Foreign  terms,  use  of,  41. 
Form  of  discourse  predominant  in  per- 
suasion, 458,  460. 
FUNDAMENTAL  PROCESSES,  109. 
"  Funny  man,"  the,  in  persuasion,  451. 

Generalization,  nature  of,  384. 

GENERAL  PROCESSES  IN  THE  ORDER- 
ING OF  MATERIAL,  245. 

Gnomic  literature,  287. 

Grammar  distinguished  from  rhetoric,  2. 

Grouping  of  descriptive  details,  difficulty 
of,  328 ;  of  thoughts,  273. 

HABITS  THAT  PROMOTE  INVENTION, 
226. 

Heterogeneous  sentence,  176. 

Historian,  qualification  of  the,  375. 

Historic  present,  the,  113. 

History,  375 ;  forms  of,  376. 

Hortatory  element  in  oratory,  457. 

Human  nature,  knowledge  of,  in  per- 
suasion, 452. 

Hyperbole,  99. 

Hypothesis,  416. 


480 


INDEX   OF  SUBJECTS. 


Idioms,  46. 

Illative  conjunctional  relation,  143. 
Illustrative  details  in  amplification,  294. 
Imagination,  function  of,  in  criticism,  306 ; 

in  historical  composition,  376. 
Imaginative  type  of  prose  diction,  73. 
Impassioned  type  of  prose  diction,  71. 
Incidents  and  anecdotes,  in  amplification, 

296. 
Indeed,  etc.,  as  particles  of  concession, 

138. 

Independent  conclusions,  habit  of  seek- 
ing, 234. 

Indices  rerum,  use  of,  242. 
Induction,  416. 
Inductive  order,  276. 
Intellect,  address  to,  in  persuasion,  456 ; 

management  of,  458. 
Intellectual  element,  importance  of,  in 

persuasion,  456. 

Intellectual  type  of  prose  diction,  69. 
Intelligible  use,  of  words,  39. 
Infinitives,  use  of,  116. 
Interpretatio,  significance  of,  292. 
INTERPRETATION,   302;    purposes    of, 

303 ;    requisites  of,   305 ;    scope  of, 

302. 
Interpreting  power,  economy  of  reader's, 

26. 

Interrogation,  97. 
Interwoven  plots,  373. 
Introduction,  267 ;  form  and  style  of,  270 ; 

rationale  of,  267. 
INTRODUCTORY,  i. 
Invective,  466. 
INVENTION,  215;  AS  A  NATURAL  GIFT, 

220 ;  as  grand  division  of  rhetoric,  7; 

BASIS   IN  MENTAL  APTITUDES  AND 

HABITS,  220;  grades  of ,224;  scope 

of,  217. 

Inventive  ability,  kinds  of,  223. 
Inversion,  165;  for  adjustment,  166;  for 

emphasis,  165 ;  in  prose  diction,  66. 
Investigation,  order  of,  276. 
Irony,  100. 

Iteration,  exposition  by,  393. 
It,  prospective  and  retrospective,  134. 

Knowledge  of  human   nature,  in  per- 
suasion, 452. 


Literature,  three  broad  types  of,  3. 

Litotes,  145. 

Logic,  as  distinguished  from  rhetoric,  2. 

Logical  description,  391. 

Long  and  short  sentences,  185 ;  uses  of, 

186. 
Loose  sentences,  188. 

Metaphor,  90 ;  use  of,  in  description,  339. 

Metonymy,  88. 

Motives,  appeal  to,  in  persuasion,  464; 
balancing  between,  467;  what  may 
be  appealed  to,  464. 

Movement,  emphasized,  366;  in  narra- 
tion, 363;  in  plan,  276;  retarded  or 
accelerated,  364. 

NARRATION,  354;  as  accessory  of  de- 
scription, 344;  definition  of,  355; 
convoyed  by  description,  369;  dis- 
cursive, 370;  IN  LITERATURE,  375; 
method  of,  356;  movement  in,  363; 
SIMPLE,  355;  what  it  owes  to  de- 
scription, 368. 

Narrative  form  of  history,  377. 

Narrative  theme,  the,  256. 

NARRATIVES,  COMBINATION  OF,  371. 

Negation,  144;  of  climax,  107. 

Negative,  double,  145. 

New  formations,  coinage  of,  36. 

New  words,  35. 

Newspaper  and  colloquial  terms,  37. 

Non-colloquialisms,  poetic,  53. 

Non  sequitur,  434. 

Notes,  taking,  242. 

Not  only  .  .  .  but  also,  137. 

Novel,  the,  381. 

Object,  exactions  of,  in  description,  347 ; 

the  speaker's,  in  persuasion,  456. 
Objective  and  subjective  description,  343. 
Observation,  habits  of,  227. 
Obverse  iteration,  exposition  by,  393. 
Obverse,  repetition  by,  293. 
Old  terms,  use  of,  38. 
Only,  position  of,  119. 
Opponent,  treatment  of,  in  debate,  445. 
Or,  nor,  either,  neither,  use  of,  137. 
Oration,  general  structure  of,  471. 
Oratoric  repetition,  161. 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS. 


481 


ORATORY,  468 ;  demonstrative,  473 ;  de- 
terminate, 472;  forensic,  472;  gen- 
eral characteristics  of,  469 ;  kinds  of 
472 ;  parliamentary,  473 ;  sacred,  473 ; 
theme  in,  258,  456. 

Order,  chronological,  in  narration,  361. 

Order,  habit  of  seeking,  233;  of  argu- 
ments, 441 :  of  dependence  in  narra- 
tion, 361 ;  of  refutation,  443. 

ORDERING  OF  MATERIAL,  GENERAL 
PROCESSES  IN  THE,  245. 

Orders  of  thought-building,  two,  276. 

Outline  structure  of  discourse,  264. 

Outline,  the  comprehensive,  in  descrip- 
tion, 330. 

PARAGRAPH,  THE,  193;  parallel  con- 
struction in,  208;  plan  of,  198;  pre- 
liminary, 211 ;  proportion  in,  207; 
prepositional,  210;  QUALITIES  AND 
STRUCTURE  OF,  194;  TRANSITION- 
AL, 211. 

PARAGRAPHS,  KINDS  OF,  210. 

Paragraph-subject,  the,  194. 

Parallel  construction  in  paragraph,  208. 

PARAPHRASE,  310;  rules  0^314;  utility 
of,  310;  value  of  as  discipline,  314. 

Participles,  use  of,  115. 

Particles,  importance  of,  in  prose,  67; 
poetic  abbreviation  of,  50;  signifi- 
cance of,  in  translation,  318 ;  split- 
ting of,  159. 

Particularization,  as  means  of  amplifying, 
290. 

Partition  of  a  subject,  401. 

Periodic  structure,  146 ;  in  sentences,  188. 

Personal  character,  in  persuasion,  449. 

Personal  equation,  306. 

Personification,  94 :  use  of,  in  description, 

339- 

Perspicuity,  in  style,  20. 
PERSUASION,  447;    personal   character 

in,  449;  PRINCIPLES  OF,  448. 
Philosophic  history,  377. 
Phrases,  placing  of,  120. 
Picturesqueness,  in  prose,  65;  poetic,  55. 
PLAN,   CONSTRUCTION  OF  THE,  260; 

FUNDAMENTAL  ELEMENTS  OF,  266; 

GENERAL   MECHANISM   OF,  261 ;   of 

paragraph,  198. 


Planning,  adaptedness  of  material  to,  261. 
Pleonastic  structure  in  sentences,  174. 
Plot  and  incident,  interest  of,  in  narra- 
tion, 359. 

Plots,  interwoven,  373. 
Poetic  changes  in  meaning  of  words,  59. 
POETIC  DICTION,  CHARACTERISTICS  OF, 

48. 

Poetry,  description  in,  352. 
Point  of  view  in  description,  329. 
Popular    element,  exactions  of  the,  in 

oratory,  471. 
Popular  exposition,  405. 
Portrayal  without  detail,  337. 
Possessive,  placing  of,  118;  poetic  use 

of,  51. 

Precision,  in  style,  19. 
Precis-writing,  or  abstract,  307. 
Prefaced  statement,  150. 
Preliminary  paragraphs,  211. 
Premise,  definition  of,  424. 
Premises,  in  deduction,  424 ;  in  induction, 

417,  424. 

Present  use,  in  choice  of  words,  35. 
Presentive  words,  67. 
Prominence,  law  of,  125. 
PROOF  OF  TRUTH   DIRECTLY,  408;   BY 

DISPROOF  OF  ERROR,  429. 
Proportion,  in  paragraph  structure,  207 ; 

demands  of,  in  amplification,  287. 
Propositional  paragraph,  the,  210. 
Prose,  defined,  63. 
PROSE  DICTION,  CHARACTERISTICS  OF, 

64 ;  TYPES  OF,  68. 
Prospective  reference,  133. 
Proverbs  and  condensed  expression,  287. 
Provincialisms,  39. 
Proximity,  law  of,  125. 
Purpose  in  narration,  359. 

Quaint  terms,  affectation  of,  38. 
Qualities  of  style,  summary  of,  25. 
Question,  fixing  nature  and  extent  of,  440, 

444;   statement  and  explanation  of, 

440. 
Quotation,  as  accessory  of  amplification, 

297. 

Raconteur,  method  of  the,  358. 
Rapidity,  condensation  for,  157. 


482 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS. 


Rapid  reading,  239. 

Reading  broadly  and  deeply,  243;  by 
topics,  240 ;  creative,  235 ;  disciplin- 
ary, 237 ;  habits  of,  235 ;  rapid,  239. 

Reasoning,  as  science,  407;  chain  of, 
428. 

Reductio  ad  absurdum,  429. 

Redundancy,  153. 

Reference,  explicit,  202 ;  prospective,  133 ; 
retrospective,  122. 

Refutation,  432;  as  adapted  to  popular 
apprehension,  437 ;  need  of  wisdom 
in,  438 ;  of  deductive  argument,  435  ; 
of  inductive  argument,  437 ;  of  testi- 
mony and  authority,  437;  order  of, 

443- 

Relative,  coordinating  and  restrictive, 
127 ;  equivalents  for,  130 ;  omissions 
of,  in  poetry,  51. 

Repetition,  in  amplification,  291 ;  in  style, 
160;  of  words  for  clearness  and 
volume,  160 ;  of  thoughts  and  details, 
162;  of  manner  of  expression,  164. 

REPRODUCTION  OF  THE  THOUGHT  OF 
OTHERS,  301. 

Residues,  method  of,  431. 

Restriction,  of  antecedent,  128. 

Retrospective  reference,  122. 

Rhetoric,  definition  of,  i ;  initial  difficul- 
ties of,  5 ;  on  what  sciences  founded, 
2;  province  and  distribution  of,  6; 
two  kinds  of,  4. 

Rhetorical  study,  order  of,  n. 

Rhythm,  in  prose,  169. 

Romance,  381. 

Sagacity  and  tact,  in  persuasion,  451 ;  in 

divining  motives,  453. 
Saxon  derivatives,  use  of,  43. 
Scenic  history,  377. 
Scholarly  use,  in  choice  of  words,  42. 
Science  and  systemized  thought,  402. 
Scrap-books,  use  of,  242. 
Selection,  as  means  of  abstracting,  307 ; 

of  descriptive   details,   difficulty  of, 

328. 

Sensibilities,  economy  of  reader's,  27. 
SENTENCE,  THE,    172;    balanced,    the, 

191;      NECESSARY     QUALITIES     OF, 
175 ;  STRUCTURE  OF,  172. 


SENTENCES,  KINDS  OF,  185 ;  long,  185 ; 
loose,  188  ;  periodic,  188  ;  short,  185. 

Sequence,  a  requisite  of  structure,  263 ; 
of  details,  in  description,  332. 

Shall  and  will,  113. 

Short  sentences,  uses  of,  186. 

Sign,  arguments  from,  419. 

Similarity,  law  of,  274. 

Simile,  89 ;  use  of,  in  description,  339. 

Skeleton  of  discourse,  the,  264. 

Slang,  influence  of,  on  written  style,  38. 

Sound  and  sense,  168 ;  in  poetry,  61. 

Spencer's  law  of  economy  in  style,  25. 

Spoken  discourse,  diction  of,  76. 

Strength,  condensation  for,  154, 

Stress,  dynamic,  181. 

Structure,  indications  of,  283 ;  unit  of,  in 
'  invention,  247. 

STYLE,  n ;  adaptations  of,  17;  as  grand 
division  of  rhetoric,  7 ;  communica- 
ble features  of,  16 ;  definition  of,  13  ; 
individuality  of,  15 ;  IN  GENERAL, 
13;  necessary  qualities  of,  19;  rela- 
tion of,  to  survival  of  a  work,  15. 

Subject  and  theme,  relations  of,  249 ;  the 
paragraph,  194. 

Subjective  and  objective  description,  343. 

Subordinating  conjunctions,  140. 

Succession  in  details,  kinds  of,  in  narra- 
tion, 361. 

Suggestion,  as  accessory  of  amplification, 
300 ;  in  narrative  movement,  368. 

Surprise,  element  of,  in  narration,  367. 

Suspension,  146. 

Syllogism,  424;  amplified,  427 ;  inenthy- 
meme,  425. 

Symbolic  words,  67,  68. 

Synchronism  of  events,  371 ;  literary 
means  of  effecting,  372;  mechanical 
means  of  effecting,  373. 

Synecdoche,  88. 

Synonyms,  importance  of  study  of,  31. 

Syntax,  principles  of,  to  be  observed  in 
rhetoric,  no. 

Tact  in  persuasion,  455. 
Taking  notes,  242. 
"Talking  shop,"  229. 
Taste,  catholicity  of,  228. 
Tautology,  165. 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS. 


483 


Technical  terms,  use  of,  40. 

Tense,  rules  concerning,  112. 

Test  of  truth  at  first  hand,  230. 

Testimony,  409 ;  concurrent,  411 ;  of  ex- 
perts, 414 ;  scrutiny  of  its  character, 
410. 

Theme,  the,  defined,  248 ;  as  related  to 
kind  of  discourse,  256 ;  as  related  to 
subject,  249 ;  deduction  of  from  sub- 
ject, 251 ;  DETERMINATION  OF,  248  ; 
in  sermons,  252 ;  statement  of,  253. 

Thought,  habits  of,  232. 

Thought-building,  two  orders  of,  276. 

Title,  the,  258. 

Tone  of  discourse,  maintenance  of,  83. 

Topics,  reading  by,  240. 

Transitional  paragraphs,  212. 

Transitions,  282. 

TRANSLATION,  315 ;  requisites  of  a  per- 
fect, 316  ;  as  a  discipline,  320. 

Treatise,  the,  403. 

Trust,  mutual,  of  speaker  and  audience, 

449- 
Truth  versus  victory,  in  debate,  446. 


Unit  of  structure,  in  invention,  247;  of 

style,  172. 
Unity,  of  paragraph-structure,  194;   of 

sentence-structure,  176. 
Untranslatable,  the,  320. 
Usage,  study  of,  in  literature,  34. 
Utility,  dictator  in  prose  choice  of  words, 

64. 

Varied  expression,  30. 

Verbal  criticism,  302. 

Vivifying  details  in  amplification,  294. 

Waiving  irrelevancies  in  debate,  445. 

Will,  address  to,  463 ;  relation  of,  to  emo- 
tion, 463. 

Witness,  scrutiny  of  character  of,  409. 

Word-painting  in  description,  342;  in 
poetry,  55. 

WORDS,  CHOICE  OF,  29 ;  collocation  of, 
117. 

Written  discourse,  diction  of,  80;  for 
public  delivery,  79. 


PRESSWORK  BY 

GINN   &  COMPANY, 

BOSTON. 


INDEX  OF  THE  PRINCIPAL  QUOTATIONS. 


Abbott,  How  to  Write  Clearly,  116,  137, 
150,  159,  160,  176. 

—  Shakespearian  Grammar,  87. 
Abbott  and  Seeley,  English  Lessons  for 

English  People,  65,  171. 
Addison,  Spectator,  198. 
Angus,  Handbook  of  the  English  Tongue, 

173- 

Aristophanes,  Acharnians,  319. 

Arnold,  George,  Why  Thomas  was  Dis- 
charged, 75. 

Arnold,  Matthew,  A  French  Critic  on 
Milton,  32. 

Emerson,  162. 

Function    of   Criticism,    389,   390, 

4°S- 

Heinrich  Heine,  163. 

Literary  Influence   of  Academies, 

190. 

Literature  and  Dogma,  389. 

On  Translating  Homer,  149,  201. 

Preface  to  Byron,  175. 

Preface  to  Wordsworth,  162. 

St.  Paul  and  Protestantism,  311. 

Arnold,  Thomas  (of  Rugby),  Letters, 310, 

320. 
Arnott,  Physics,  391. 

Bacon,  Advancement  of  Learning,  227, 

399-  401. 

—  Of  Goodness  and  Goodness  of  Nature, 

200,  291. 

—  Of  Studies,  237. 

Bagehot,  Shakespeare,  231,  356. 

—  Thomas  Babington  Macaulay,  65. 

—  Wordsworth,  Tennyson,  and  Brown- 

ing, 222. 

Bain,  Composition  Grammar,  112,  124, 
137. 


—  English  Composition  and  Rhetoric, 

150,  153,  165,  468. 

—  The  Senses  and  the  Intellect,  448, 453. 
Balzac,  Eugenie  Grandet,  339. 
Bascom,  Philosophy  of  Rhetoric,  172. 
Beecher,  Address  at  Liverpool,  455. 

—  Lectures  on  Preaching,  300,  452. 
Bible,  99,  128,  135,  140,  142,  151,  152, 158, 

162,  163,  204,  270,  393,  422,  457. 
Bigelow,  Handbook  of  Punctuation,  194. 
Birrell,  Obiter  Dicta,  101. 
Blair,  Sermons,  293. 
Boston  Medical  and  Surgical  Journal, 

414. 

Boswell,  Life  of  Johnson,  18,  48,  241. 
Brown,  Spare  Hours,  118,  463. 
Browning,  A  Death  in  the  Desert,  236. 

—  Ferishtah's  Fancies,  67. 

—  The  Ring  and  the  Book,  51. 
Bryant,  The  Past,  59. 
Bulwer-Lytton,  Caxtoniana,  360, 395, 403. 
Lost  Tales  of  Miletus,  299. 

Pamphlets  and  Sketches,  348. 

Bunyan,  Pilgrim's  Progress,  43,  95. 
Burke,  American  Taxation,  434. 

—  Bristol  Speech,  98,  161,  212,  274,  422, 

431- 

—  Conciliation  with  America,  432,  466. 

—  East  India  Bill,  279,  402. 

—  Letters,  235. 

—  Reflections    on    the    Revolution    in 

France,  106,  187,  209,  292. 

—  Regicide  Peace,  292. 

—  Sublime  and  Beautiful,  170. 

—  Thoughts  on  the  Cause  of  the  Present 

Discontents,  294. 
Bushnell,  Sermons  for  the  New  Life,  253, 

392- 
Byron,  Childe  Harold,  53. 


486 


INDEX  OF  THE  PRINCIPAL    QUOTATIONS. 


Cable,  Posson  Jone,  178. 
Carlyle,  Boswell's  Johnson,  33. 

—  Burns,  189. 

—  Characteristics,  288,  289. 

—  Count  Cagliostro,  375. 

—  Frederick  the  Great,  204, 332, 339,  373. 

—  French  Revolution,  125. 

—  Hero- Worship,  33,  144,  308,  338. 

—  Letters,  344. 

—  Life  of  Sterling,  378. 

—  Sartor  Resartus,  91,  261. 

Carlyle  and  Emerson,  Correspondence, 

341. 

Carpenter,  Comparative  Physiology,  40. 

Chaucer,  Canterbury  Tales,  14. 

Coleridge,  Ancient  Mariner,  338. 

Craddock,  Charles  Egbert,  In  the  Ten- 
nessee Mountains,  340,  344. 

Prophet  of  the  Great  Smoky 

Mountains,  101. 

De  Mille,  Elements  of  Rhetoric,  169. 
De  Quincey,  Autobiographic  Sketches, 
366. 

—  Charlemagne,  376,  377. 

—  Christianity  as  an  Organ  of  Political 

Movement,  284. 

—  Coleridge  and  Opium-Eating,  168. 

—  Confessions  of  an  Opium-Eater,  99. 

—  John  Keats,  29. 

—  Lessing,  43. 

—  Murder  as  a  Fine  Art,  107. 

—  Rhetoric,  426. 

—  Style,  288,  291. 

—  Suspiria  de  Profundis,  188,  205,  208. 
Dickens,  Barnaby  Rudge,  45,  182,  375. 

—  David  Copperfield,  45,  113,  336. 

—  Nicholas  Nickleby,  37,  81. 

—  Pickwick  Papers,  37,  90. 

—  Tale  of  Two  Cities,  368. 

—  Uncommercial  Traveller,  104. 
Drummond,  Natural  Law  in  the  Spiritual 

World,  36. 
Dryden,  Preface  to  Dramatic  Writing,  93. 

Earle,  Philology  of  the  English  Tongue, 

117. 
Eliot,  George,  Felix  Holt,  332. 

Middlemarch,  106. 

Mill  on  the  Floss,  338. 


Silas  Marner,  396. 

Elwell  on  Expert  Testimony,  414. 

Emerson,  Character,  177. 

—  Correspondence  with  Carlyle,  341. 

—  Eloquence,  452,  456. 

—  Nature,  41. 

—  The  American  Scholar,  236,  237. 
Erskine,  Speech  in  Behalf  of  Lord  George 

Gordon,  410. 

Everett,  The  Uses  of  Astronomy,  345. 
Examiner,  The  (N.  Y.),  149. 

Farrar,  With  the  Poets,  183. 
Fox,  Parliamentary  Reform,  426. 

—  Rejection   of  Bonaparte's  Overtures, 

78,  467. 

Freeman,  Race  and  Language,  283. 
Froude,  The  Science  of  History,  269. 

Gage,  Physics,  391. 
Gibbon,  Autobiography,  114. 

—  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Em- 

pire, 34,  267. 

Gilmore,  Outlines  of  Rhetoric,  410. 
Gladstone,  Kin  beyond  Sea,  295. 
Goodrich,  Dartmouth  College  Case,  462. 

—  Select  British  Eloquence,  411. 
Grant,  Personal  Memoirs,  182. 

Green,  History  of  the  English  People,  331, 
333.  34°. 

Greenleaf,  Testimony  of  the  Four  Evan- 
gelists, 412,  430. 

Hall,  Sermons,  266. 

Hamilton,  The  Study  of  Mathematics, 

255- 

Harper's  Weekly,  184. 
Harris,  Sermons,  207. 
Hawthorne,  House  of  Seven  Gables,  46, 

ico,  360. 

—  Scarlet  Letter,  196. 
Helps,  Brevia,  126. 

Hepburn,  Manual  of  Rhetoric,  430. 
Higginson,  Atlantic  Essays,  44,  63. 
Hill,  A.  S.,  Principles  of  Rhetoric,  116. 
Hodgson,  Errors  in  the  Use  of  English, 

1 20. 
Holmes,  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table, 

41,  106,  154. 
Horace,  De  Arte  Poetica,  360,  461. 


INDEX  OF  THE  PRINCIPAL    QUOTATIONS. 


487 


Howells,  Rise  of  Silas  Lapham,  36,  92. 
Hudson,  Harvard  Shakespeare,  303. 
Hughes,  Tom  Brown  at  Oxford,  365. 
Hugo,  Les  Miserables,  331. 
Hunt,  Principles  of  Written  Discourse, 
39- 

Interior,  The,  134. 

Irving,  Knickerbocker,  272. 

James,  Portrait  of  a  Lady,  349  (bis). 

—  Portraits  of  Places,  330,  332. 
Jevons,  Principles  of  Science,  91,  421. 
Johnson,  Life  of  Pope,  262. 
Johnson's  Cyclopaedia,  385,  418. 

Keats,  Isabella,  58. 

—  Lamia,  57. 

Lamb,  Old  Benchers  of  the  Middle  Tem- 
P'e,  59- 

—  On  the  Plays  of  Shakespeare,  156. 
Landor,  Imaginary  Conversations,  47, 83, 

300. 

Langland,  Vision  of  Piers  Plowman,  61. 
Latimer,  Sermon  on  the  Ploughers,  304. 
Lessing,  Laocoon,  328. 
Lewes,  Life  of  Goethe,  321. 

—  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature, 

225,  276,  278,  437. 
Lewis,  Tayler,  The  Emotional  Element 

in  Hebrew  Translation,  317. 
Longfellow,  New  England  Tragedies,  361. 
Lowell,  Democracy  and  Other  Addresses, 

320-  337- 

—  Fireside  Travels,  14,  42,  296. 

—  John  Dryden,  33, 34. 

—  Legend  of  Brittany,  83. 

—  On  a  Certain  Condescension  in  For- 

eigners, 255,  271. 

—  Shakespeare  once  More,  306. 
Lyly,  Euphues,  192. 

McCarthy,  History  of  our  own  Times, 

372. 
Macaulay,  Bacon,  186. 

—  Boswell's  Johnson,  293. 

—  Gladstone  on  Church  and  State,  436. 

—  Hallam's  Constitutional  History,  101, 

192,  197,  210,  211,  291. 


—  History,  106,  138,  160,  209,  212,  274, 

277,  281. 

—  History  of  England,  102,  468. 

—  Milton,  145,  164,  299. 
Macaulay,  Speech  on  Copyright,  440. 
Education,  415. 

Literature  of  Britain,  309. 

Reform  Bill,  161,  185,  437,  465. 

McElroy,  Structure  of  English  prose, 
346. 

McMaster,  History  of  the  American  Peo- 
ple, 287. 

Marsh,  Lectures  on  the  English  Lan- 
guage, 462. 

Mathews,  Oratory  and  Orators,  450,  453. 

Mill,  Dissertations  and  Discussions,  392. 

Milton,  On  the  Passion,  233. 

—  Paradise  Lost,  62,  90,  99. 

—  Paradise  Regained,  60. 

Minto,  Manual  of  English  Prose  Litera- 
ture, 177,  188. 

Morison,  Macaulay,  356,  374. 

Mookerjee,  Onoocool  Chunder,  Life  of, 
84. 

Moore,  Nonsense,  148. 

Morley,  Edmund  Burke,  290,  299. 

—  On  Compromise,  403. 

—  On  the  Study  of  Literature,  xiv. 

—  Voltaire,  175  (bis),  202. 

Morris,  E.  P.,  On  the  Study  of  Latin,  428. 

—  William,  Sigurd  the  Volsung,  53. 
Motley,  History  of  the  United  Nether- 
lands, 365. 

—  Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic,  103,  127, 

148,  361. 
Mozley,  Essays,  342. 

—  University  Sermons,  426. 
Mulford,  The  Nation,  398,  400. 
Myers,  Greek  Oracles,  268. 

—  Wordsworth,  147. 

Neilson,  Memories  of  Rufus  Choate,  315, 

320. 
Newman,  Discussions  and  Arguments, 

441- 

—  Grammar  of  Assent,  390,  394. 

—  Idea  of  a  University,  147, 152, 164, 166, 

186,  187,  197,  203,  250,  296,  298,  393, 

423,  425,  427. 
Sermons,  79,  170. 


488 


INDEX  OF  THE  PRINCIPAL   QUOTATIONS. 


Nicolay  and  Hay,  Life  of  Lincoln,  440, 

450. 
North  American  Review,  13. 

Parker,  Golden  Age  of  American  Oratory, 

230. 
Parkman,  Discovery  of  the  Great  West, 

295.  334- 

Pascal,  Thoughts,  102,  291. 
Payne,   Introduction  to  Burke's    Select 

Works,  293,  388. 
Phelps,  English  Style  in  Public  Discourse, 

45°- 

—  Men  and  Books,  239. 

—  Theory  of  Preaching,  264,  286. 
Pope,  Essay  on  Criticism,  58  (bis). 
Pryde,  Highways  of  Literature,  335. 

—  Studies  in  Composition,  357. 

Reade,  How  to  Write  English,  297. 
Roe,  Barriers  Burned  Away,  100. 
Robertson,  Lectures,  358. 

—  Sermons,  195. 

Ruskin,  Modern  Painters,  342. 

—  Poetry  of  Architecture,  284. 

—  Roadside  Songs  of  Tuscany,  Introduc- 

tion to,  4. 

—  Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture,  461. 

—  Stones  of  Venice,  73,  329. 

—  Two   Paths,  90,    125,   167,   216,  218, 

281. 
Russell,  Jack's  Courtship,  37. 

Sand,  George,  Countess  of  Rudolstadt, 

163. 
Scott,  Kenilworth,  349,  367. 

—  Talisman,  364,  367. 

Shairp,  Culture  and  Religion,  390. 

—  Studies  in  Poetry  and    Philosophy, 

39- 
Shakespeare,  Hamlet,  97,  344. 

—  Henry  IV.,  357. 

—  Julius  Caesar,  155, 454,  457,  460. 

—  King  Lear,  336,  343. 

—  Macbeth,  343. 

—  Measure  for  Measure,  91. 

—  Merchant  of  Venice,  54,  374,  447. 

—  Richard  II.,  86,  87. 
Southey,  Letters,  115. 

—  Life  of  Nelson,  70. 

Spencer,  Philosophy  of  Style,  26,  88. 

—  The  Social  Organism,  254,  280. 


Stanley,  History  of  the  Jewish  Church, 
190. 

—  Life  of  Arnold,  310,  320. 

—  On  Corinthians,  311. 
Stedman,  Poets  of  America,  125. 

—  Victorian  Poets,  n. 

Stephen,  Hours  in  a  Library,  359,  380. 
Stevenson,  On  Style  in  Literature,  169. 
Stowe,  Oldtown  Folks,  126,  340. 
Swinburne,  When  the  Hounds  of  Spring, 
61. 

Taine,  Tour  through  the  Pyrenees,  346. 
Tennyson,  Coming  of  Arthur,  35. 

—  Dora,  49. 

—  Gareth  and  Lynette,  59,  345. 

—  Godiva,  103. 

—  Higher  Pantheism,  155. 

—  In  Memoriam,  62,  94,  315,  464. 

—  Lancelot  and  Elaine,  102. 

—  Lotos  Eaters,  55. 

—  Love  and  Duty,  59. 

—  Merlin  and  Vivien,  385. 

—  Passing  of  Arthur,  141. 

—  Ulysses,  130. 

Thackeray,  Four  Georges,  98,  loo,  159, 

275-  342. 

Times,  London,  315. 
Trevelyan,    Early    History    of    Charles 

James  Fox,  155. 
Tribune,  New  York,  120. 
Trollope,  Autobiography,  82,  183,  363. 

Warner,  On  Prison  Reform,  126. 
Webster,  Adams  and  Jefferson,  469. 

—  Bunker  Hill  Oration,  71. 

—  First  Settlement  of  New  England,  98. 

—  Murder  of  Captain  Joseph  White,  269, 

409,  418,  420. 

—  Reply  to  Hayne,  434,  435,  436. 

—  The  Constitution  not  a  Compact,  434. 
Whately,  Elements  of  Rhetoric,  292,  294, 

4*3- 
Whipple,  Daniel  Webster  as  a  Master  of 

English  Style,  152,  415. 
White,  Words  and  their  Uses,  114. 
Whitney,  Bonnyborough,  37. 
Wilkinson,  A  Free  Lance,  221,  405. 
Wordsworth,  Excursion,  298,  350. 
Michael,  51. 

—  Ode  on  Immortality,  HI,  323. 


HIGHER  ENGLISH. 

also  Classics  for  Children,  pages  2  to  6.) 


Minto's  Manual  of  English  Prose  Literature. 

Designed  mainly  to  show  characteristics  of  style.  By  WILLIAM  MIXTO, 
M.A.,  Professor  of  Logic  and  English  Literature  in  the  University  of 
Aberdeen,  Scotland.  12mo.  Cloth.  566  pages.  Mailing  Price,  $1.65; 
Introduction,  $1.50. 

E  main  design  is  to  assist  in  directing  students  in  English 
composition  to  the  merits  and  defects  of  our  principal  writers 
of  prose,  enabling  them,  in  some  degree  at  least,  to  acquire  the  one 
and  avoid  the  other.  The  Introduction  analyzes  style  :  elements 
of  style,  qualities  of  style,  kinds  of  composition.  Part  First  gives 
exhaustive  analyses  of  De  Quincey,  Macaulay,  and  Carlyle.  These 
serve  as  a  key  to  all  the  other  authors  treated.  Part  Second  takes 
up  the  prose  authors  in  historical  order,  from  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury up  to  the  early  part  of  the  nineteenth. 


H.  C.  De  Motte,  Pres.  of  Chaddock 
College,  Quincy,  III.:  We  are  de- 
lighted with  it.  It  is  one  of  the  most 
serviceable  books  I  have  seen  on  the 
subject.  I  shall  recommend  it  for 
our  work  here.  (Sept.  23,  1886.) 

Hiram  Corson,  Prof,  of  English 


Literature,  Cornell  Univ.,  Ithaca, 
N.  T. :  Without  going  outside  of  this 
book,  an  earnest  student  could  get 
a  knowledge  of  English  prose  styles, 
based  on  the  soundest  principles  of 
criticism,  such  as  he  could  not  get  in 
any  twenty  volumes  which  I  know 
of.  (May  14,  1886.) 


Minto's   Characteristics  of  the  English  Poets, 

from  Chaucer  to  Shirley. 

By  WILLIAM  MINTO,  M.A.,  Professor  of  Logic  and  English  Literature 
in  the  University  of  Aberdeen,  Scotland.  12mo.  Cloth.  xi  +  483  pages. 
Mailing  Price,  $2.15  ;  for  Introduction,  $2.00. 

rpHE  chief  objects  of  the  author  are :  (1)  To  bring  into  clear 
light  the  characteristics  of  the  several  poets ;  and  (2)  to  trace 
how  far  each  was  influenced  by  his  literary  predecessors  and  his 
contemporaries. 


HIGHER  ENGLISH. 


13 


Hudson's  Expurgated  Shakespeare. 

For  Schools,  Clubs,  and  Families.  Revised  and  enlarged  Editions  of 
twenty-three  Plays.  Carefully  expurgated,  with  Explanatory  Notes  at 
the  bottom  of  the  page,  and  Critical  Notes  at  the  eiid  of  each  volume. 
By  H.  N.  HUDSON,  LL.D.,  Editor  of  The  Harvard  Shakespeare.  One 
play  in  each  volume.  Square  16mo.  Varying  in  size  from  128-253 
pages.  Mailing  Price  of  each:  Cloth,  50  cents;  Paper,  35  cents.  Intro- 
duction Price:  Cloth,  45  cents;  Paper,  30  cents.  Per  set  (in  box), 
$12.00.  (To  Teachers,  $10.00.) 

O  OME  of  the  special  features  of  this  edition  are  the  convenient 
size  and  shape  of  the  volumes ;  the  clear  type,  superior  press- 
work,  and  attractive  binding;  the  ample  introductions;  the  ex- 
planatory notes,  easily  found  at  the  foot  of  the  page;  the  critical 
notes  for  special  study;  the  judicious  expurgation,  never  mangling 
either  style  or  story;  the  acute  and  sympathetic  criticism  that  has 
come  to  be  associated  with  Dr.  HUDSON'S  name ;  and,  finally,  the 
reasonableness  of  the  price. 


Oliver  Wendell  Holmes:  An  edi- 
tion of  any  play  of  Shakespeare's  to 
which  Mr.  Hudson's  name  is  affixed 
does  not  need  a  line  from  anybody  to 
commend  it. 

Cyrus  Northrop,  Prof,  of  English 
Literature,  Yale  College :  They  are 
convenient  in  form  and  edited  by 
Hudson,  —  two  good  things  which  I 
can  see  at  a  glance. 

Hiram  Corson,  Prof,  of  Rhet.  and 
Eng.  Lit.,  Cornell  University :  I  con- 
sider them  altogether  excellent.  The 
notes  give  all  the  aid  needed  for  an 
understanding  of  the  text,  without 
waste  and  distraction  of  the  student's 
mind.  The  introductory  matter  to 
the  several  plays  is  especially  worthy 
of  approbation.  (Jan.  28,  1887.) 

C.  P.  P.  Bancroft,  Prin.  of  Phil- 
lips Academy,  Andover,  Mass. :  Mr. 
Hudson's  appreciation  of  Shake- 
speare amounted  to  genius.  His 
editing  accordingly  exhibits  more 
than  learning  and  industry,  —  it  re- 
veals insight,  sympathy,  and  convic- 
tion. He  leads  the  pupil  into  the 


very  mind  and  heart  of  "  the  thou- 
sand-souled  Shakespeare." 

Byron  Groce,  Master  in  Public 
Latin  School,  Boston :  The  amended 
text  is  satisfactory;  the  typography 
is  excellent;  the  notes  are  brief,  al- 
ways helpful,  not  too  numerous,  and 
put  where  they  will  do  the  most  good ; 
the  introductions  are  vigorous,  in- 
spiriting, keenly  and  soundly  critical, 
and  very  attractive  to  boys,  especially 
on  account  of  their  directness  and 
warmth,  for  all  boys  like  enthusi- 
asm. (Jan.  22,  1887.) 

C.  T.  Winchester,  Prof,  of  English, 
Wesleyan  University :  The  notes  and 
comments  in  the  school  edition  are 
admirably  fitted  to  the  need  of  the 
student,  removing  his  difficulties  by 
stimulating  his  interest  and  quicken- 
ing his  perception.  (Feb.  10,  1887.) 

A.  C.  Perkins,  Prin.  of  AAelphi 
Academy,  Brooklyn:  In  the  prepa- 
ration of  the  School  Shakespeare, 
Mr.  Hudson  met  fully  the  capacities 
and  needs  of  students  in  our  schools 
and  colleges.  (Feb.  4, 1887.) 


14  HIGHER   ENGLISH. 

The  series  consists  of  the  twenty-three  plays  enumerated  below 

We  furnish  of  the  Old  Edition,  in  paper  covers,  the  plays  starred  in  the 
following  list  (Mailing  Price,  20cents  ;  Introduction,  15  cents):  — 

*A  Midsummer-Night's  Dream.3  *Henry  the  Fifth.2 

*The  Merchant  of  Venice.1  *Henry  the  Eighth.2 

*Much  Ado  About  Nothing.3  *Romeo  and  Juliet.3 

*As  You  Like  It.1  ""Julius  Caesar.1 

Twelfth  Night.1  "Hamlet.1 

*The  Tempest.2  *King  Lear.2 

The  Winter's  Tale.2  *Macbeth.2 
King  John.  Antony  and  Cleopatra.1 

Richard  Second.  *Othello.3 
Richard  Third.2  Cymbeline.8 

*Henry  Fourth,  Part  First.1  *Coriolanus.8 
Henry  Fourth,  Part  Second.1 

Hudson's  Three-Volume  Shakespeare. 

For  Schools,  Families,  and  Clubs.  With  Introductions  and  Notes  on 
each  Play.  12mo.  Cloth.  636-678  pages  per  volume.  Mailing  Price, 
per  volume,  $1.40;  Introduction,  $1.25. 

The  plays  included  in  the  three  volumes  respectively  are  Indicated  by 
figures  in  the  above  list. 

The  Harvard  Edition  of  Shakespeare's  Complete 

Works. 

By  HENRY  N.  HUDSON,  LL.D.,  Author  of  the  Life,  Art,  and  Characters 
of  Shakespeare,  Editor  of  School  Shakespeare,  etc.  In  Twenty  Volumes; 
12mo ;  two  plays  in  each  volume  ;  also  in  Ten  Volumes,  of  four  plays 
each. 

RETAIL  PRICES. 


Twenty-vol.  edition,  cloth      .   $25.00 
Half -calf 55.00 


Ten-vol.  edition,  cloth     .        .  $20.00 
Half-calf .....     40.00 


B^jp^"  Buyers  should  be  careful  in  ordering  not  to  confound  the  Har- 
vard Shakespeare  u-ith  an  Old  Edition  made  in  1851,  and  sold 
under  another  name. 


rPHIS  is  pre-eminently  the  edition  for  libraries,  students,  and 
general  readers.     The  type,  paper,  and  binding  are  attractive 
and  superior,  and  the  notes  represent  the  editor's  ripest  thought. 


HIGHER   ENGLISH. 


15 


An  obvious  merit  of  this  edition  is,  that  each  volume  has  two 
sets  of  notes;  one  mainly  devoted  to  explaining  the  text,  and 
placed  at  the  foot  of  the  page ;  the  other  mostly  occupied  with 
matters  of  textual  comment  and  criticism,  and  printed  at  the  end 
of  each  play.  This  arrangement  is  particularly  suited  to  the  con- 
venience of  the  general  student,  who  does  not  wish  to  hunt  for  an 
explanation ;  and  to  the  wants  of  the  special  student,  who  desires 
extended  discussion  of  a  difficulty. 


E.  P.  Whipple,  The  Noted  Critic  : 
Hudson's  is  tiie  most  thoughtful  and 
intelligent  interpretative  criticism 
which  has,  during  the  present  cen- 
tury, been  written,  either  in  English 
or  German. 

N.  Y.  Evening  Express :  The  most 
satisfactory  and  complete  edition  we 
have. 


N.  Y.  Tribune:  As  an  interpreter 
of  Shakespeare,  imbued  with  the 
vital  essence  of  the  great  English 
dramatist,  and  equally  qualified  by 
insight  and  study  to  penetrate  the 
deepest  significance  of  his  writings, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  name  an  Eng- 
lish or  American  scholar  who  can  be 
compared  with  the  editor  of  this 
edition. 


Hudson's  Life,  Art,  and  Characters  of  Shake- 

speare  (Revised  Edition,  1882). 

By  HEXRY  N.  HUDSON,  LL.D.,  Editor  of  The  Harvard  Shakespeare,  etc. 
In  2  vols.  12mo.  969  pages.  Uniform  in  size  with  The  Harvard  Shake- 
speare, and  matches  it  in  the  following  bindings  :  — • 


Cloth 
Half -calf 


Retail  Price,  $4.00  per  set. 
"  "        8.00       " 


fTlHESE  two  volumes  contain:  The  Life  of  Shakespeare;  An 
Historical  Sketch  of  the  Origin  and  Growth  of  the  Drama  in 
England;  Shakespeare's  Contemporaries;  Shakespeare's  Art,  discus- 
sing under  this  head,  Nature  and  Use  of  Art,  Principles  of  Art, 
Dramatic  Composition,  Characterization,  Humour,  Style,  Moral 
Spirit;  Shakespeare's  Characters,  containing  critical  discourses  on 
twenty-five  of  the  Plays. 


London  Athenaeum :  They  deserve 
to  find  a  place  in  every  library  de- 
voted to  Shakespeare,  to  editions  of 


his  works,  to  his  biography,  or  to  th« 
works  of  commentators. 


16 


HIGHER    ENGLISH. 


Hudson's  Classical  English  Reader. 

For  High  Schools,  Academies,  and  the  upper  grades  of  Grammar  Schools. 
12mo.  Cloth.  425  pages.  Mailing  Price,  $1.10 ;  Introduction,  $1.00 ; 
Allowance  for  old  book  in  use,  30  cents. 

TT  contains  selections  from  Bryant,  Burke,  Burns,  Byron,  Car- 
lyle,  Coleridge,  Cowley,  Cowper,  Dana,  Froude,  Gladstone, 
Goldsmith,  Gray,  Helps,  Herbert,  Hooker,  Hume,  Irving,  Keble, 
Lamb,  Landor,  Longfellow,  Macaulay,  Milton,  Peabody,  Scott, 
Shakespeare,  Southey,  Spenser,  Talfourd,  Taylor,  Webster,  Whit- 
tier,  Wordsworth,  and  other  standard  authors,  with  explanatory 
and  critical  foot-notes.  This  is  a  book  that  seems  to  merit  a  place 
in  every  school  of  advanced  grade  below  the  college. 

F.  J.  Child,  Prof,  of  English  in  are  good  for  any  thing  generally  know 
Harvard  University :  A  boy  who  their  readers,  might  almost  be  said 
knew  this  book  as  well  as  boys  who  to  be  liberally  educated. 


Essays  on  Education,  English  Studies,  and  Shahe- 


speare. 

By  HENRY  N.  HUDSON,  LL.D.,  the  Eminent  Shakespearian. 
IGmo.    Paper.    118  pages.    Mailing  Price,  25  cents. 


Square 


rpHE  volume  contains :  The  Preface  to  the  new  edition  of  Ham- 
let,  An  Essay  on  "  English  in  Schools,"  "  Shakespeare  as  a 
Text-Book,"  "How  to  Use  Shakespeare  in  Schools." 

Hudson's  Text-Book  of  Poetry. 

By  H.  N.  HUDSON,  LL.D.     12mo.     Cloth.   694  pages.    Mailing  Price, 
$1.40 ;  Introduction,  $1.25. 

SELECTIONS  from  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  Burns,  Beattie, 
^  Goldsmith,  and  Thomson.  With  sketches  of  the  authors' 
lives,  and  instructive  foot-notes,  historical  and  explanatory. 

Hudson's  Text-Booh  of  Prose. 

By  H.  N.  HUDSON,  LL.D.    12mo.    Cloth.    636  pages.     Mailing  Price, 
$1.40;  Introduction,  $1.25. 

"TIROM   Burke,  Webster,   and  Bacon.     With   sketches  of   the 
authors'  lives,  and  foot-notes,  historical  and  explanatory. 


HIGHER  ENGLISH.  17 

Hudson's  Selections  of  Prose  and  Poetry. 

Annotated.  12mo.  Paper.  Mailing  Price  of  each,  20  cents  ;  Introduc 
tion  Price,  15  cents. 

Edmund  Burke.  SECTION  1.  Fire  Speeches  and  ten  Papers.  SEC- 
TION 2.  A  Sketch  of  his  Life.  A  Letter  to  a  Noble  Lord,  and  eleven 
extracts. 

Daniel  Webster.  SECTION  1.  The  Reply  to  Hayne,  and  six  extracts. 
SECTION  2.  A  Sketch  of  his  Life,  and  extracts  from  twenty-five 
Speeches. 

Lord  Bacon.     A  Sketch  of  his  Life,  and  extracts  from  thirty  Essays. 

Wordsworth.  SECTION  I.  Life  of  Wordsworth,  the  Prelude,  and  thirty- 
three  Poems.  SECTION  II.  Sixty  Poems  and  Sonnets,  accompanied 
by  foot-notes,  historical  and  explanatory. 

Coleridge  and  Burns.     Biographies  of  the  Poets,  and  forty -five  Poems. 

Addison  and  Goldsmith.  A  Life  of  each,  fifteen  Papers  from  Addison, 
and  eleven  Prose  Selections  from  Goldsmith,  with  The  Deserted  Village. 

Craih's  English  of  Shakespeare. 

Illustrated  in  a  Philological  Commentary  on  Julius  Caesar.  By  GEORGE 
L.  CRAIK,  Queen's  College,  Belfast.  Edited,  from  the  third  revised 
London  edition,  by  W.  J.  KOLFE,  Cambridge,  Mass.  16mo.  Cloth.  386 
pages.  Mailing  Price,  §1.00 ;  Introduction,  'JO  cents. 

A  N  exposition  in  regard  both  to  the  language  or  style  of  Shake- 
*^    speare,  and  to  the  English  language  generally. 

Shakspere's  Versification. 

Notes  on  Shakspere's  Versification,  with  Appendix  on  the  Verse  Tests, 
and  a  short  Descriptive  Bibliography.  By  GEORGE  H.  BROWNE,  A.M. 
12mo.  Paper.  34  pages.  Price,  interleaved,  25  cents. 

Shakespeare  and  Chaucer  Examinations. 

Edited,  with  some  remarks  on  the  "  Class-Room  Study  of  Shakespeare," 
by  WILLIAM  TAYLOR  THOM,  M.A.,  Professor  of  English  in  Houins  In- 
stitute, Va.  Square  IGmo.  Cloth.  346  pages.  Mailing  Price,  $1.10; 
for  introduction,  $1.00. 

rpHIS  is  a  revised  and  enlarged  edition  of  the  Two  Shakespeare 

Examinations,  published  several  years  and  very  much  liked  by 

teachers  of  English  Literature.    That  book  contained  two  exami- 


18 


HIGHER   ENGLISH. 


nations  held  at  Hollins  Institute  in  1881,  on  Hamlet;  in  1882,  on 
Macbeth,  for  the  annual  prize  by  the  New  Shakespeare  Society  of 
England.  Besides  these,  there  are  in  the  new  edition  the  Exami- 
nations on  King  Lear  (1883),  on  Othello  (1884),  on  The  Merchant 
of  Venice  (1886) ;  a  Chaucer  Examination  (1886),  set  chiefly  by 
Professor  Child,  of  Harvard  University,  and  based  upon  the  "  Pro- 
logue," "  The  Knight's  Tale,"  and  the  "  Nun's  Priest's  Tale  "  of 
the  Canterbury  Tales ;  and  some  additional  remarks  on  the  Study 
of  Shakespeare  in  Schools  and  in  Shakespeare  Reading  Clubs. 


W.  M.  Baskervill,  Prof,  in  Van- 
derbilt  University,  in  the  "Nashville 
American":  Many  essays,  newspaper 
articles,  lectures,  and  papers  on  the 
teaching  of  English  have  in  the  last 
ten  or  fifteen  years  appeared,  but  we 
do  not  hesitate  to  give  the  palm  to 
this  book.  It  is  eminently  practical. 
Professor  Thorn  has  availed  himself 
of  all  the  hints,  suggestions,  and 
methods  offered  by  Hale,  Hudson, 
Abbott,  Rolfe,  and  others,  and  by 
means  of  a  burning  enthusiasm  has, 
as  every  true  teacher  must  do  in 
order  to  win  the  highest  success, 
shaped  theory  and  practice  into  a 
perfect  system  of  his  own,  from  which 
he  gets  the  best  results.  These  ex- 
aminations give  the  high-water  mark 
of  the  study  of  English  in  the  col- 
leges of  this  country. . . .  We  heartily 
recommend  these  examinations  to 
teachers.  They  are  full  of  sugges- 
tive information.  They  will  serve 
as  admirable  models. 

Edward  S.  Joynes,  Prof,  of  Eng- 
lish, South  Carolina  College,  Colum- 
bia :  This  beautiful  book  is  an  honor 
to  American  scholarship.  I  hope  that 
American  scholars  will  show  a  just 
appreciation  of  it. 

Frank  Roane,  Teacher  of  English 
Literature,  High  School,  Lynchburg, 
Va. :  I  found  the  first  edition  of  tkis 
little  book  most  valuable  and  sug- 
gestive, and  from  even  a  cursory 


examination  I  am  assured  of  the  en- 
hanced value  of  this  one.  For  teach- 
ers and  pupils  just  entering  the  field 
of  Shakespearian  study,  —  a  class 
largely  on  the  increase  in  our  land, 
—  this  book  will  be  found  almost  in- 
dispensable. 

Francis  J.  Child,  Prof,  of  English, 
Harvard  University  :  No  one  can 
fail  to  see  that  literature  is  taught 
at  the  Hollins  Institute  in  a  way 
altogether  admirable.  All  the  papers 
show  knowledge,  taste,  and  thought, 
and  if  anything  remains  to  be  added, 
it  is  that  they  are  all  well  written. 
I  agree  with  the  author  in  all  the 
important  points  of  his  paper  on 
the  study  of  Shakspere.  Literature 
is  the  one  indispensable  study  for 
women  and  for  men,  and  Shakspere 
in  literature.  I  mean  by  Shakspere 
about  half  his  plays. 

John  F.  Genung,  Prof,  of  Rhet- 
oric, Amherst  College :  The  great 
problem  in  the  teaching  of  English 
literature  is,  how  to  combine  the  req- 
uisite thoroughness  in  detail  on  the 
one  hand  with  the  larger  interest 
due  to  the  spirit  of  the  literature  on 
the  other.  Professor  Thorn's  book 
outlines  a  method  that,  in  my  judg- 
ment, very  happily  solves  this  prob- 
lem ;  and  the  really  remarkable 
examination  papers  here  published 
prove  that  the  method  has  succeeded. 


HIGHER   ENGLISH. 


19 


Arnold's  English  Literature. 


Historical  and  Critical. 

With  an  Appendix  on  English  Metres,  and  Summaries  of  the  Different 
Literary  Periods.  By  THOMAS  ARNOLD,  M.A.,  of  University  College, 
Oxford.  American  edition.  Revised.  12mo.  Cloth.  558  pages.  Mail- 
ing Price,  $1.65;  Introduction  (with  or  without  the  following  pamphlet), 
$1.50'  Allowance  for  old  book,  40  cents. 

The  Anglo-Saxon  and  Norman  Periods  have  been  republished,  from 
the  fourth  revised  English  edition,  and  can  be  furnished  in  paper  bind- 
ing. Mailing  Price,  30  cents;  Introduction,  25  cents. 

rPHE  student  of  this  manual  will  receive  just  impressions  of  the 
relative  value  of  names  and  books,  as  well  as  political  and  re- 
ligious influences.    Indeed,  the  adjustment  and  arrangement  of  ma- 
terial are  managed  with  wonderful  dexterity  and  analytic  clearness. 


H.  H.  Morgan,  Prin.  of  High 
School,  St.  Louis,  Mo.:  I  should 
most  fully  recommend  it  to  any 
one  whose  interest  in  literature  was 


that  of  the  student ;  for  he  would 
find  much  which  could  otherwise 
be  obtained  only  by  extensive  read- 
ing. 


First  Two  Boohs  of  Milton's  Paradise  Lost; 

and  Milton's  Lycidas. 

By  HOMER  B.  SPRAGUE,  PhD.,  formerly  Principal  of  the  Girls'  High 
School,  Boston.  12mo.  Cloth.  198  pages.  Mailing  Price,  55  cents;  In- 
troduction, 45  cents. 


edition  furnishes  convenient  and  suggestive  notes,  with 
excellent  type  and  arrangement,  and  presents  an  approved 
formula  for  conducting  class  exercises.  It  omits  fifteen  or  twenty 
objectionable  lines. 


William  F.  Warren,  President  of 
Boston    University :     It   seems    to 


me  admirably  adapted  to  its  pur- 
pose. 


A  Hand-Booh  of  Poetics. 

For  Students  of  English  Verse.  By  FRANCIS  B.  GUMMERE,  Ph.D., 
Head  Master  of  the  Swain  Free  School,  New  Bedford,  Mass.,  and  for- 
merly Instructor  in  English  in  Harvard  College.  12mo.  Cloth,  vi  +  250 
pages.  Mailing  Price,  $1.10;  for  Introduction,  $1.00. 

nPHE  book  has  three  divisions,  —  Subject-Matter,  Style,  Metre. 
Each  is  treated  from  two  points  of  view,  —  the  historical,  trac- 
ing the  growth  of  different  kinds  of  subject,  of  expression,  or  of 


20 


HIGHER   ENGLISH. 


rhythm;   and  the  theoretical,  stating  clearly  the  principles  and 
laws  of  the  matter  discussed. 


P.  A.  March,  Prof,  of  English  Lit- 
erature, Lafayette  College:  An  ex- 
cellent book :  a  work  of  good  sense 
and  good  taste,  and  much  learning 
in  small  compass. 

J.  M.  Garnett,  Prof,  of  English 
Literature,  University  of  Virginia : 
It  has  fulfilled  my  anticipations,  and 


it  supplies  a  real  deficiency  in  text- 
books. I  do  not  know,  anywhere  in 
English,  of  a  better  treatment  «f  the 
subject. 

F.  J.  Child,  Prof,  of  English,  Har* 
vard  College:  I  think  you  have  an 
exceedingly  fine  book  in  Mr.  Gum- 
mere's  Poetics. 


Outlines  of  the  Art  of  Expression. 

By  J.  H.  GILMORE,  Professor  of  Logic,  Rhetoric,  and  English,  in  the 
University  of  Rochester,  N.Y.  12mo.  Cloth.  117  pages.  Mailing  Price, 
65  cents  ;  Introduction,  60  cents. 

A  TREATISE  on  English  Composition  and  Rhetoric,  designed 
"^  especially  for  Academies,  High  Schools,  and  the  Freshman 
Class  in  Colleges. 

Fulton  and  Trueblood's  Choice  Readings. 

From  Popular  and  Standard  Authors. 

Compiled  and  arranged  by  ROBERT  I.  FULTON  and  THOMAS  C.  TRUE- 
BLOOD,  Associate  Founders  and  Directors  of  the  University  School  of 
Oratory,  Kansas  City,  Mo.,  and  Teachers  of  Elocution  in  the  Univ.  of 
Mich.,  the  Ohio  Wesleyan  Univ.,  the  Kentucky  Univ.,  and  the  Missouri 
State  Univ.  12mo.  722  pages.  By  Mail,  $1.65;  Introduction,  $1.50. 
Presentation  edition,  stamped  cover,  full  gilt,  fine  paper,  $4.00  retail. 

TTS  distinctive  feature  is  the  number,  variety,  and  interest  of 
the  pieces,  classified  according  to  their  character,  and  covering 
the  entire  range  of  available  selections.  Indices  are  given  to 
the  best  scenes  from  all  the  plays  of  Shakespeare,  139  choice 
readings  from  the  Bible,  and  159  hymns,  —  all  classified.  A  com- 
plete diagram  of  the  principles  of  vocal  expression  is  added. 

Wm.  B.  Chamberlain,  Instructor 


J.  W.  Churchill,  Pro/,  of  Elocu- 
tion, Theological  Seminary,  An- 
dover,  Mass. :  The  excellent  purpose 
of  the  authors  has  been  very  success- 
fully accomplished,  both  in  the  ex- 
pository and  illustrative  material. 
The  selections  are  interesting — some- 
times through  novelty,  but  more 
pf  ten  because  of  their  intrinsic  worth. 


in  Elocution,  Oberlin  College,  0.: 
They  are  choice  indeed.  I  think  I 
do  not  know  of  any  collection  repre- 
senting so  many  good  authors  and 
so  well  arranged.  The  indices,  espe- 
cially that  to  scenes  from  Shake- 
speare, form  a  very  valuable  addition 
to  the  volume.  (June  11, 1885.) 


HIGHER   ENGLISH.  21 

Fulton  &  Trueblood's  Chart. 

Illustrating  the  Principles  of  Vocal  Expression. 

By  ROBERT  I.  FULTON  &  T.  C.  TRUEBLOOD,  compilers  of  Fulton  & 
Trueblood's  Choice  Readings.  Printed  on  extra  tough  paper,  36x60 
inches,  bound  on  the  edges,  and  mounted.  Retail  price,  $2.00.  Special 
introduction  terms  on  application. 

rPHE  chart  presents  a  complete  system  of  vocal  culture  and  elo- 
"  cution  at  a  glance,  thus  avoiding  the  necessity  of  turning  the 
leaves  of  a  book  or  a  series  of  charts.  The  principles  are  scien- 
tifically arranged  and  supplemented  with  diagrams,  exercises,  and 
illustrative  sentences. 

The  chart  is  recommended  to  professional  elocutionists,  no  mat- 
ter what  school  or  system  they  represent ;  to  all  students  of  vocal 
culture  and  expression,  as  an  invaluable  aid  in  private  practice, 
suggesting  a  regular,  systematic,  and  judicious  drill  —  the  most 
imperative  condition  of  success ;  and  to  the  teachers  in  the  public 
schools,  enabling  them  to  develop  the  voices  of  children  and  im- 
press upon  them  the  principles  of  correct  expression. 


F.  H.  Sargent,  Prin.  New  York 
School  of  Acting:  I  find  it  an  ex- 
ceedingly good  exposition  of  the  Rush 


system  of  voice  training.  I  shall  be 
glad  to  recommend  it  as  I  have  op- 
portunity. (Jan.  14, 1888.) 


A  Method  of  English  Composition. 

By  T.  WHITING  BANCROFT,  Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  English  Litera- 
ture in  Brown  University.  12mo.  Cloth.  96  pages.  Mailing  Price, 
55  cents  ;  Introduction  Price,  50  cents. 

rpHE  author's  intention  is  to  furnish  to  colleges,  academies,  and 
high  schools  a  brief  system  of  instruction  in  the  preparation 
of  essays  or  compositions.      The  second  part  consists  of  lists  of 
classified  themes,  with  specimens  of  plans  of  compositions,  etc. 


E.  E.  Smith,  Prof,  of  English  and 
History,  Purdue  University,  Lafay- 
ette, Ind. :  I  have  used  it  with  an 
advanced  class  to  decided  advan- 
tage. The  divisions  and  the  sug- 
gestive arrangement  of  the  various 


kinds  of  subjects  that  may  be  treated 
in  essays,  orations,  and  debates,  is 
such,  I  found,  as  to  remove  unneces- 
sary obstacles,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  require  thought  on  the  student's 
part. 


Lee's  Graphic  Chart  of  English  Literature. 

By  Y.  P.  LEE,  of  Yale  College.    Printed  on  tough  manilla  paper  24  x  39 
in  size.    Mailing  Price,  30  cents;  for  introduction,  25  cents. 


REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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